The Songbird

Hidden away beneath lightless barrier,

Restrained by bars of rusted brass,

A songbird, whomst once so brilliantly was plumed,

Sleeps now, under wing faded ash.

Impurpled velvet, whence the darkness was procured,

He swipes vigorously from atop her cage,

And demands of her the luxury of music from her own self,

As he has done many an earlier day.

And so, shaking dust, and residual sleep from her feathers,

She excretes music like honey to feed his spirit,

Her song rivaling in splendor the glow of the sunrise as through the window it pours,

She allows herself no tears, lest he hear it.

It was then with an exuberance of gaiety that he took leave,

Full of the joy her music begotten,

Unbeknownst to him does the songbird watch,

The velvet screen forgotten.

So ignorant is he to the ravenous growling beneath her breast,

As he unknowingly leaves her crying,

So pleasurably now he skips away to revel in the light of a spring morning,

And leave his songbird dying.

-SilentSymphonies

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