Cold and painful.
Drift to the ground.
Some try to catch it,
To save it from infamy,
But it never fails
To slip through their fingers.
When it hits the ground,
Reality comes in screams,
In rag dolls,
And in last goodbyes.
Clocks shatter,
But time never stops.
People drift from
The fallen, black, dark feather.
There is no undo, no redo, no must do.
It haunts those,
Who with eerie eyes,
Watched the feather fall from power.
It haunts those who didn't.
Who closed their televisions
And turned off their windows.
And when eyelids surrender,
The black feather flutters
In between memories
And fleeting thoughts,
Constant reminder of hate.
The feather may be black,
And fallen to the rubble,
But the hope it once had
As it drifted away,
Continues the red,
Continues the white,
Continues the blue.
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