Black Bird

A black bird
            hangs high,
up a gloomy tree’s branch
            bleeding…
                        Its beak stutters,
feathers falling—
            bloodied red
of rabid vultures scavaging,
                        preying on rabbit's flesh,
searching... scanning the area,
            as it tries to fix
                        its broken wings,
learning to fly, away—
            from the harshness
of reality’s stake
            where worms feed on
                        the flesh of decaying
            corpses popping out,
as the black bird sings.
            Hoping to regain, flight
                        towards the sky
Repairing. Rekindling.
                        The foul stench of blood,
            fix its broken wings,
learning to fly. High in the sky—
            where ravens roam the air
                        of a black bird's despair.