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The Bird

Pulled towards the vortex,
That black, dark, eater of dreams,
The bird flaps frantically
And struggles to escape
But is not strong enough.
Tossed into the chaos,
Lightning searing around him,
He tumbles and turns,
His outstretched wings
His weak and only hope.

Eventually it is over
And he emerges,
Outwardly unscathed.
Exhausted, he lands
On narrow, blackened rock.
Head down, his breast heaves
As his wings slowly settle
To his sides.
Moments pass
As he sits in silence,
His will to fight gone.
Then, his choice made,
Wings clamped tight against his body,
He tumbles forward,
Into a fire from which
There is no rebirth.