Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-33904527-20190624205022

Oh, little birdie

Up there in the tree,

Do I see you?

Is it you who sees me?

If I was to leap from my window-sill,

Dive through leaf and twig, breath held,

Just to clutch you in my palm,

To hear your soft feathers flutter...

Would I feel you?

Would you even feel me?

If you flew to my shoulder,

Your wings spread wide with majesty,

A crimson vessel, darting from your perch,

To seek my unworthy touch...

Would I find you?

Would you find me?

What if I seized you,

Squeezed you in my fist,

Just to feel you tremble.

Just to feel you quake...

Would I harm you?

And would you harm me?

What if you attacked me,

Claws out, just to combat me,

Focused, tense, and ready.

Like an apex predator...

Would I hurt you?

Would you hurt me?

But it isn't that simple.

No, it isn't that true...

I stare at my birdie,

It's just me and you.

It lays in my hand,

As dead as the night.

There are no other birdies,

Not a single in sight.

It falls to the pan,

Heat boils its skin.

I shed a tear for my birdie,

Now lost deep within.

The meal is ready.

The meat is so warm.

But I think of my birdie,

Whose corpse I now mourn.

Oh little birdie,

Who lived in the tree,

Did I kill you?

Was it you who killed me? 