The mirage of crows and the mirror in the sky

Gilded like Gatsby and leaking rays of sun, 

I knew not who I was when the crows descended.

One by one, they emerged, seemingly from nowhere,

Hungry for the fruition I, too, yearned for.


The haze of blackened feathers distorted my rose-colored glasses, 

And for one moment, I thought I was one of them.

Though, I believed I was the one spark in the darkness,

And as I suffocated on the avian ambush, I swallowed my pride. 


With the breath in my lungs dancing slower and slower,

The birds departed, and I was met by the aurora of the sunrise.

Though, my emergence rather resembled the night, 

And I was reborn under the guise of a feathered silhouette.


This facade settled and urged me to reminisce,

But I began to wonder if I was remembering,

Or if this had all just been a dream.

Soon it seemed my history dissipated when I spread my wings.


When the birds rained to the ground once more,

I left with them, soaring away from the only land I knew.

Instead of wetting my eyes with tears, though,

I polished my vocal chords with a song.


Intermingled with the sky and the dark expanse of birds,

My ascension stopped feeling like a demise, 

For finding my footing meant abandoning them 

For my newfound wings.


Jaunty in my accomplished membership in the murder,

I accepted the price of solitude for the reward of dependence.

Looking down in pity, I gazed below at the unforgiving earth

And prayed for the hatchlings who fell in love with the cold, hard ground.


Though, each time I reentered the atmosphere and greeted the grass,

I was beguiled by a considerate thought of perpetual reunion.

Yet, requited love was always my reason to leave,

Rich with the knowledge that I’d come down with the rain once more

To my pluviophile homeland.