Flying Blind

I often feel like that lonely, outcast,
little bird flying in the middle of
the night, in the middle of the city...

whose circadian rhythm is all
fucked up from the 24/7 barrage of
a million decibels, millions of
kilowatts, and ceasless motion
rising from the earth below;

in a confusing world in which it
tries to survive, hurtling itself
through the fridgid air of night, at
breakneck speed, bobbing and
weaving anxiously, yet unable to
avoid the cacophonic shockwaves
assailing it from every direction;

in disorienting sensory blindness,
to throw itself headlong towards
the illusion of daylight emanating
from inside one of the countless
monoliths thrusting skyward - giant
blocks of glass encased concrete
and steel littering what was once
open space;

its life to be brutally and abruptly
terminated by the transparent
barrier obstructing its path to
freedon - a path to true
illumination, not one of faux
sunlight;

broken and twisted, falling and
falling, too soon coming to rest
unnoticed on the emotionless
pavement at the immovable feet of
the uncaring behemoth...

Now it finally hears the silence,
sees the darkness, and feels that
stillness it so desired - How I long
to be that bird.