The Sparrow

As this little sparrow,

sits by the window sill,

alone,

afraid,

yet restless,

resilient,

headstrong and pure,

my eye still watches its defenceless wings,

and its hopping from A to B.

Why does it choose to stay

here, where everything around it

has turned to ash, save for the window sill

of a dilapidating home, whose walls,

have all been torn down.

Its souls, all clustered together,

all fighting for warmth.

My shivering breath chills the little creature,

whose heart beat runs faster now.

I could choose poorly, like the others.

I could choose justly, like no one.

I could leave, I could continue staring out of the window,

whose curtains were wrapped around my neck.

I can...

I could...

I should...I must.

But the poor bird,

whose heart was purer than the piercing hunger

that plagued my concience

fainted,

its wings

no longer willing

to fly.