The Writers' Circle

there go little birds,
above my head with haste.
i watch and wonder what it's like to die.
do they ever get scared or have thoughts of suicide?
little bird, can you tell me what it's like, 
to take wing,
to take flight?
the little bird laughed and shoook her head,
"if humans could fly all us birds would be dead!"
she put it so bluntly that it was erased from my mind.
and that's when i left my black angel wings behind.