Over the meadow and into the woods, this is where the blackbird lies.
It sits on its branch, singing its beautiful, yet painfully sorrowful song
it cries.
And big salty tears come spilling out from it's deep, dark, bottomless eyes.
Until, one day, It's wings will fall,
the blackbird is no more, feathers clutter up the forest floor.
Only then will cease its cries, every tear coming forth from each one of it's big, black, beautiful, eyes.
On the day the blackbird dies.
YOU ARE READING
Little Diary
AcakJust some of my nonsense. Some are stories about my life and, yet, some just stories. Some poems, some epiphanies, and who knows what else.
