Blah...

[inky-moonshine]

At least you have the right to say,
You went out with a bang,
Although perhaps more literally was really needed,
Jolt and slam. Neck jarred, your neck broken.
And downy, grey feathers float to the ground,
A gentle juxtaposition, bitter in state.
It is not instant, but it does not to do learn it first hand,
If you do not feel, you are exaggerating,
If your impulses carry, then truly,
The clutched claws, no soaring, no singing.
You will always be nameless,
And what to say you, a part of this world,
The windows are clean now,
Which proves that we have learned nothing.
Closer to an angel than could be hoped for,
Though you paint yourself in charcoal and spark,
Lift you from the ground now,
Hands that know not a sign of life,
From the air that you collect, hold on to,
And should your head fall,
Obstruct the half-open eye,
It shouldn’t hurt anyone.
They would paw around you,
Waiting for a chance to laugh,
As the others surely would when put into words,
The antithesis of dignity befall your graces,
But you should have no care for it now,
Nor should anyone ever have,
But at least you could impart one truth:
Some blackbirds have brown feathers.