A fall into disparity with a bleeding stone.
Quickly eaten by the torment of words that are not his own.
He was soon nothing but a shell,
A hollow husk of what was once a man.
He looks toward the starlit sky,
Scanning the Heavens for a new home
Catching a glimpse of a winged figure throwing a silhouette against the moon.
He asks the creature, 'When will this agony end? '
With a piercing screech replies the bird,
The terror of the unexpected answer to his inquiry clenched his throat.
The man's voice inaudible to any being living or otherwise.
And from the recess of his mind the bird takes flight.
Out of the shadows of thought a new question is formed.
From his lips falls the query,
'When will she be mine? '
The figure cirlces above and retorts,
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.