Black bird singin’ in the dead of night

Take these broken wings and learn to fly

All your life, you were only waiting for this moment to arise.

Black bird singin’ in the night

Take these sunken eyes and learn to see

All your life, you were only waiting for this moment to be free.

:Black Bird-Sarah McLaughlin:

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The black bird jumped from branch to branch, taking careful steps as to not fall off the thin branch and find his death down below on the unforgiving green ground. He was searching for the right place to sing his song, the song he sung every night, about everything that happened to him in the day, or events he simply witnessed. Today he would sing about how he wished he could fly how he wished he could join the other black birds in flying in the crisp black blanket that was the night.

But ever since that unneeded accident came around, in which both his wings were broken beyond all repair, he could no longer fly. All his dreams came crashing down like a house made of glass when the thought of never flying again struck him, and he took to his sorrow by singing, using the only real thing he had left that wasn’t broken. His delightful singing voice.

The voice that soared over the starry sky, doused the ears of any bitter or angry creature, soothing their beings, the voice that made every other black bird envious that they couldn’t possess such a voice.

But none of that mattered to the black bird.

All that mattered, to him, was singing of his sorrows and wishing ever so much for a miracle to grace his broken wings. Couldn’t every other black bird see that he was envious of them? Jealous that he couldn’t spread his wings far and wide, take off into the clear night, and feel each wind sweep through his black wings like a self made harp. He knew naught of their envy, only his own creeping envy winding over his heart, and blinding him from seeing the truth.

But of course, his deep sunken eyes could see naught. Only focusing on the blurry world that shook, and was dabbed with dark, gloomy hues of grey, white and black. That was all he saw, nothing more, and nothing less. Just like his wings, his eyes broke a long while ago, forbidding him of seeing anything of the world he sang every night to.

Tonight was a perfect night, for singing about his woes, that is. It was not raining, like it usually did when he wanted to sing, and every creature lay silent, as if waiting for a grand show that was going to impress them thoroughly.

The black bird began to see, staring in a low, almost moan tone that caused sighs to drift through the forest, and every creature focused their attention on the black bird.

He sang, and sang, and sang. Until his voice was on the verge of cracking, and no creatures were awake, as they had all fallen asleep to the peaceful lull of the black bird’s voice.

“Can they never stay awake when I sing? To hear naught of the sorrow I feel everyday in my heart, or the envy deep in my soul of every other bird that can take flight, while I stay in the trees, longing for my wings to heal. Can they not understand, or relate? Is that the answer?” The black bird moaned to himself pitifully, a few stray tears dabbing his eyes. He looked over the crowd of sleeping creatures, and moaned with sorrow, beginning another song.

This song was shorter than any other he had sung, for tears choked his throat, and he fell, so far down to the horrid ground he feared too much.

And while he fell, he kept singing, until he hit the ground,

And his entire being broke, giving company to his wings and eyes.