The blood is darkening
Pools of sangria and poignant blades of grass surround
Breezes kiss and depart
Thus is the reduced bird’s state
Words are just words
Lives are just lives
Remedies are found and unachievable
Reaching is only for those who can fly
Flying is the only aspiration
Forgetting how was effortless
Languid is the appearance
The appearance is ill fated
Ill fate is a hole and many birds with broken wings will fall
Drawing out is possible
Is it required?
Is it sought after?
Seek liberation and fly again
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