Murmuring of the Immortal Birds

a_murmuration_of_starlings____by_earth_hart_d79i5vd-fullview

He bleeds from a million places but only he sees the blood; he screams with a million faces but only he hears the words—this is what it means to be hunted by the immortal birds.

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Deep within the void I choose to call my heart,

there exists the nucleus of my old and tired soul

It is a desolation, so fierce and so very vast,

a frozen glacier, so very bitter and so very cold

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The harsh chill bites into my creaking bones,

it cuts me from without and also from within

Intense is the pain, so many shades and tones,

twisting my memory and crumpling my skin

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I bleed profusely from a million different places,

yet it is only I who sees the oozing blood

I shout helplessly with a million screaming faces,

no one helps, no one comes to stop the flood

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‘You are cursed forever,’ the words say,

destined to walk alone, the sad path of life

‘To the very end, that is your only way,

a watery grave, a bullet, or maybe a sharp knife’

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‘And why is that so?’ I ask with a weary smile,

while my heart keeps on sinking, down and down

‘Your soul is dark,’ strangely, the answer is so vile,

and your heart is an abandoned ghost town’

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I look within and find all the ghosts smiling,

their faces contorted in agony and in mirth

Their gestures are cruel and all reviling,

demons in pursuit, since my damned birth

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I look around and find myself surrounded,

by the murmurings of all the immortal birds

I look at myself, forever hunted, forever hounded,

their razor-sharp beaks, claws, and harsh words

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The birds are all near, they are almost here,

they are eager to devour my exhausted soul

Their whispers are dreadful, I tremble with fear,

my fate is all done, it has rolled its black scroll

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