A Desperate Anthology to Non-Angsty Poetry

The Song of The Birds

I remember when my bluebirds used to sing

Singing and swooping over my green glades and mountain peaks.

I can still remember when they stopped

Slowly at first

And then they were gone.

I searched and searched for them

But came back with empty, grey arms.

Years have passed and I've stopped looking for them

But I have not shed a single tear

For the bluebirds that used to sing,

Remember.

I remember when the trees danced to my song

The song the bluebirds used to sing.

Their leaves fluttering in the wind,

Always seemed to put a smile on my face.

I still remember their horrid screams

The howling that furled the wind and dimmed the sun

The ones that echoed across the barren land and rippled the stormy sea.

I tried to shut out their wailing

But even my dreams cannot chase away the shadow that haunts them,

Evermore.

I remember where the children used to play.

Building palaces out of glistening sand

Giggling as salty waves sprayed their faces.

But then I hear the storm clouds rumbling

I tried to barricade the walls

Tried to keep them safe in my arms,

But I have lost all everything.

I have lost all

Control.

Only darkness exists now

And I'm all alone

Just me and my memories.

The sweet chirping of the bluebirds

The joyful swaying of the trees

The crashing of the waves.

I start to sing,

But stop, realizing no one will hear me,

Anyway.

I close my eyes, accepting my fate.

I tried to warn them

But they flicked me away as a minor thought.

The ones who drowned slowly

Realizing everything around them were burning embers.

Maybe next time I'll find someone who

Remembers

The sweet calling of the bluebirds.

And remembers to get out of the mine

Before the canary stops

Crying. 

Yeah not going to lie that was pretty angsty.