The Birds That Didn’t Want to Live in a Tree

The Birds That Didn’t Want to Live in a Tree

They gathered once, at dawn’s soft call,

A hundred wings, yet hearts so small.

They sang of skies they’d never known,

Of freedom lost, of seeds unsown.

Their eyes were glass, their feathers torn,

They watched the sun but felt no morn.

For in their hearts, a shadow grew,

That whispered things no bird should know.

They feared the branches, cold and bare,

The weight of life was heavy there.

They dreamt of clouds, of endless flight,

and boats on water sailing out of sight.

Each leaf that trembled told their pain,

Each gust of wind a sad refrain.

They’d built no nests, they’d sung no cheer,

They’d learned to love the sound of fear.

They perched on stone instead of limb,

Their songs grew faint, their eyes grew dim.

For every chirp was half a cry,

And every wing was scared to try.

They’d seen the storms that twist and break,

They’d known the cost of each mistake.

And so they stayed, though meant to roam,

Afraid to fall, afraid of home.

The trees reached out, their arms of grace,

Yet none would land, nor show their face.

They whispered softly, “Stay with me,”

But the birds refused the living tree.

They’d rather rest on graves of old,

Than feel the wind, than brave the cold.

For peace, they thought, was found in stone,

Where hearts don’t ache, where souls are lone.

One bird remained when dusk drew near,

It sang so low, so frail, so clear.

It said, “We fly to live, to break,

Yet fear has stolen all we make.”

Its feathers shook, its spirit bled,

As twilight crowned the sky with red.

It closed its eyes and tried to dream,

Of what once was, of what might seem.

And when the dawn returned once more,

The trees were still, the sky did soar.

No birds remained, no songs to keep,

Just whispers lost where shadows sleep.

The wind still hums their memory,

Of those who feared to simply be.

For life is not in stone or air,

It’s in the heart that learns to dare.