when power turned to sunlight

if birds flew south tonight

*note: the original idea for this poem belongs to a friend of mine. this is simply a rewrite of her concept.*

My feathers are torn and damaged as your flock flies, invades my homeland in search of warmer satisfaction. I find bits of wing and beak scattered 'round bare bone and skin-a result of this unbeknownst tragedy. I accept these repercussions. I accept the fact that you simply need a rest stop before continuing your flight to your new home. You will always fly the same route, enchanting me with your selflessness as you swoop down to save me from these wretched vulture fiends. My early chirping meadowlark-colored with golden layers of triumph. Thick black experienced marks- I await to gain a stripe. Often nights I am thrown off by an enchanting caw from nearby treetops. A beautiful black raven manages to capture my attention-promising me more than just mini flights around. Placing starlight in my eyes with each magnificent thrash. My heart and wings take parallel actions and flutter at the thought of a trip next to such a dashing creature . But my sweet meadowlark constantly chirps for my return home. And I question which is love. And I question what the difference is. And I fear the consequences of what is hidden-inhabiting in the nest of one I don't truly desire. Forcing a haven in sharp twigs and dirty plastic that poke my sides and suffocate my fragile lungs.