The wind carried feather fell,

and fell, and fell some more, till

another gust of wind pushed it right into

a tree branch. The sharp branch stabbed

the feather so violently it lost half of its

momentum, but it continued to fall,

and with each branch knocked more and more

of the feather's spirit she still fell. Broken and

more confused and determined then ever

the poor feather pushed on and fell allowing

each branch to mutilate the feather's threads

and as gravity pushed the feather closer

and closer to its destination it finally

landed onto my chest as I laid there with my head in his lap.

And I gently attempted to blow life back into the feather

but it was too late, the feather couldn't endure the

violent harassment of the tree branches

and was just floating in the lifeless sky.

I held the feather in my hand, and turned my head

towards him, his blank emotionless stare said enough.

It was over, dead, lost, confused

just like the feather.

Free falling...

just waiting, hoping, praying

for something better.