And then something started,
in its soul.
Fervor, or a forgotten storm,
And it made its own way,
And slowly,
Sensibly,
Deciphered this fever.
And It considered its thought,
A work of nonsense,
A work of genius,
Or a work without substance.
And in the only way,
a bird knows how,
exhibited,
two taciturn wings.
Sending,
the delicate rustle,
Of unfolding feathers
Loosely,
Like a frail breeze,
Through the church bell tower.
It will spread open,
its chest,
Parading muffled plumage,
to an absent audience.
Indulging in the silent applause,
and bowing to the closed eyes.
The sparrow,
will then,
take a heated step forward,
Prompted,
by the muted encouragement.
It will ascend,
Balancing,
on the exposed,
Glinting,
heads of nails,
And ultimately,
It will reach the bell tower railing,
And on cue,
The symphony begins,
The great brass beasts sway,
And pound,
And sing,
Screaming battle cries,
Of dinging,
And donging.
The wooden hinges moan,
Like work horses,
And as the clamor,
and choir,
Of bells,
Intensifies,
With a series,
Of harmonic,
Meteoric,
Timed bellows,
The sparrow is ignited.
And then,
with this newfound life,
The sparrow opened,
the tunnels of its soul,
And tipped,
over the firmament,
And into the void of air.
The wind will rattle its wings,
In violent,
Thunderous,
Tremors,
Ripping feathers,
And straining thin bones.
And moved,
by this great breath of God,
He coiled wings,
Pulled in his tail,
And shut,
two winded eyes.
And now,
It falls,
In a blind,
Tacit,
Senseless free fall,
Finally detached,
Like a seed,
falling,
from a blossom,
Ready to grow,
Into a tree of its own.
And then I,
the sparrow,
Self-indulging,
in the violence of expression,
And the inanity of revolution,
Hit the ground,
Heavily,
solidly,
And in full merit.
And then I,
The sparrow
opened,
My once tacit wings,
flaunted,
my once muffled plumage,
And vented,
My once heavy soul.
And than I,
The sparrow,
Suddenly saw,
The firmament of the universe,
Unfastened,
And open,
Like a holy book,
Open,
To that one passage,
We are all looking for
And then I,
the sparrow,
Slain,
by the breath of God,
Lift two,
Victorious,
Wings into the air.
And then I,
the sparrow,
Willingly,
Purposefully,
And gladly,
Give back my soul,
Because for any bird,
The flight
Is worth
The fall.