Lone Bird

an abstract look into depression and isolation.

Wings clipped, arrhythmic feather swiping at the clouds.

Clouds cover all but one reserved patch, a walled off clearing,

Migrating onwards, a world apart, travelling through the pain. Through the thunderous resistance.

My eyes fixated on the incandescent glow of a brighter world,

Yet here I am, brawling with the very air that stands between me and my Eden.

I cannot rest, that would spell the end. Rocks would rend my flesh and absorb the colours of suffering,

I vile maw that forces me airborne, a joy in which I relished, yet now I despise it.

How I miss the joyous days in which my mind would only wander to the light

Yet now I am only acquainted with its despicable imitations that would deceive me into being my…

Friends.

I had a flock once, we were of one feather, flew as one bird,

Yet now.

I am a flock of one.

Am I flying towards the light? Or is it abandoning me?

Yet for now, I soar on one wing. Begging for release.

Whether it be the rocks, or the kin that I have lost.