Curled tightly in its iron womb
Forthcoming almost certain doom
an infant bird respires last
wretched secrets mere and vast
“To die!” it shrills “I beg you please
Take my breath and let me cease”
A chilly, silent, cheerless air
secreted by this bird’s despair
Restrained by ageless ferric bars
adorned in grisly, gaping scars
from strife and discord with its cage
and self-inflicted fiendish rage
Withered and replete of wrath
its essence walks a lonely path
Phantoms, voices beckon so
and warn of hells it dares to go
what happened to this bird I know
a tale of endless pain and woe
left in its cage to rot and die
its final whisper simply “Why?”
5 comments
That’s a nice poem. I didn’t know the folk of Elsweyr were so talented. I thought most khajiit travelled in caravans selling overpriced junk. Elder scrolls jokes aside, it’s a nice poem, (in a depressingly beautiful way) (does that even make sense??)
After feasting upon the glorious moon-sugar cakes and skooma one always finds inspiration to write a poem or two 🙂 Thanks for your feedback, happy New Year’s eve
No, Dragon’s breath mead is where it’s at, and my pleasure. For what it’s worth, happy new year 🙂
Nice poem, gave me chills.
Wow, your poems make mine look like skeever crap. I want to take classes but it has to wait till highschool. -.-