A Dark Wing for a Birthday

A Dark Wing for a Birthday

The crow sits where the heart should open,

black feathers drinking in the light,

its gaze steady, knowing too much,

as if it has seen every year before this one.

Roses burn quietly at the edges,

deep red against the soft decay,

petals holding their beauty tightly,

even as time loosens their hold.

There is no softness in this celebration,

only truth dressed in careful lines,

love that has survived its shadows,

and learned to stand beside them.

The heart is not untouched,

it carries marks of every season,

every loss stitched into its frame,

every joy that dared to stay.

And still the crow does not leave,

it guards what others might fear,

it understands that love is not light alone,

but something darker, something deeper.

Birthdays are not just beginnings,

they are echoes of all that has been,

every year a layer beneath the skin,

every memory a quiet companion.

So let the feathers remain,

let the roses hold their colour,

let the heart stand strong in its truth,

unafraid of what it carries.

Because to live is to gather shadows,

to love is to welcome them in,

and to reach another year

is to know you have survived your own storm.

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