With a rigid gust from a spiteful wind, the estival
pearlescence of a songbird's wings is dusted away.
Though its gracious notes so commonly filled
each and every rivet in the balmy air,
the demons below have grown outright;
coating the skyline in a crimson-seeping hatred.
They used to cower together; arrogantly basking in the erroneous
light summoned from their tongues of serrated vex.
Their words were quietus, but silent;
though they would chant cynical hymns of an uprising,
each night cooled to a pitch of midnight blue;
as the songbird rested, and the men in red
grew ill in their own ignorant ease.
Their upturned mouths became impatient;
ravenously pleading for a sickly fuel to feed the growing knot
of contempt in their throat. Kneading their vocal chords,
it begged for an eventual freedom.
A freedom so calamitous but so righteously favourable.
The songbird soared and expressed his melodies in glee,
so joyously-unaware of the licks of fire reaching just beneath his feet.
A fiery gale pushed the bird from his balance;
flames rushing up from the points of his feathers to his vigorous bone.
All together, the demons screeched in unison as the fire rose to their target;
their blood began to boil in vile excitement as the songbird stumbled.
The silken azure and gold painted delicately along his feathers now charred in an infinitely-darkening black; however, his lustre was not gone.
A quartet of forked tongues took hold of his weakened wings;
reaping him down beneath the flora and into a red haven of blight.
Reaching the bottom, the soil was richly red with diffidence; the walls clutched by veins pumping furiously through an unseen affliction.
The blood that ran through was dark with gloom;
lacking a healthful colour of ardor.
It was apparent that the sounds here pulsated untouched by
the sonata of summer that was orchestrated just above;
it was apparent that the instruments here were played
on twisted scale that only descended into an
inevitable fate of an unjust conclusion.
It was then that the songbird came to a revelation;
these monsters knew nothing but a lowly nature.
How could they ever have the grace they've always wanted in
their lap if hellish tridents and eyes filled with a
mercurial lust for destruction is all that is tangible to them?
As they grunted and blew furious steam from their parted lips,
he tilted his beak upwards, towards the eden where he
tenderly perched himself ever-so-highly.
He began to sing in the same gentle tonality he always did.
Though he initially felt the bitter sensation of honed
teeth against his deranged plumage, the feeling melted away
with every reverberation in his sounds of a marvellous sunlight.
Scintillating and golden was the blood along their lips;
cascading through lightly-warming air as did his pitch in chorus.
The glorious blue that had been stripped from his wings filled into
the black abyss of their desolate irises;
evicting the emptiness and exchanging it with a beautiful gleam.
The potent red in their skin and gashes faded into a timid, lotus pink.
The feeing of bliss arose amid the magnificent reincarnation
of the former beasts; pigment spinning effortlessly into the gleeful
meeting of colours in the honey skies above.
The songbird peered down at his new confidants,
dumbfounded by his decorum.
He said,
"Let us fly together now."
