Lonely Bird

Beating its wings,
the wind conspiring against it,
the midnight bird trudged on.

Dense clouds fogged up the view,
not a sight or sound around,
all the other blackbirds had gone.

Its stomach roared like a lion,
its muscles burned like fire;
its mind was confused and clogged.

The peachy moon shined overhead,
not offering much light,
as the blackbird plummetted down.

Its eyes closed, its wings stopped,
the feathers flapped wildly
as the bones crunched against the concrete.