Little Black Bird (So Lost)

The vine growing on the gate,
twisting slowly,
elegantly.
The black bird perches upon it,
singing sweetly,
but with a tune so sorrowful.
Coming forth from its throat with such perfection and grace,
but it has been forced to sing.
Its wings spread out,
and it flies.
Flies away to the home it searches for,
but will never find.
Opening slowly,
the gate shows what lies behind.
The fog creeping slowly across the ground,
roots from the trees bursting from the earth.
The black clouds above hiding the stars.
Rain falls fast and cold to the dry and cracked ground.
From across the the land
the bird's song can be heard.
But only can it be heard unless the earth becomes silent.
The desolate tune filling my head.
Oh how could this sorrowful song create such delight?
It fills my head with such thoughts,
thoughts that are meant to give me happiness,
Happiness that could never be attained.

To eat the most delectable fruit,
to breathe the purest air,
to drink the sweetest water.
To live the purest life.
To never be at fault,
to never shed a tear.
Perfection is only imagined,
but never lived.
The straightest line can never be drawn,
and a song can never played without flaw.
A perfect life can never be lived.

The black bird still flies through the air,
singing its sad tune.
Still searching for its home.
But only if it would ever look down,
it's home lies beneath it.
But it continues on,
staring forward,
but never down.
So lost,
alone in a place where it could be tortured,
eaten,
picked clean.
But still it flies,
without a care in the world.
Is that true happiness,
or just ignorance?

The rain falls falls harder,
the wind blows with such force,
it attacks the land,
andputs it to death.
The trees fall,
and the water floodingit.
The birds songcan no longer be heard,
Still it tries to sing,
but struggles to stay in the air,
it falls,
lower,
faster.
The song has ended.
Our little bird is dead.