I am in a cell without windows, <br />lined with black feathered walls. <br /> <br />Alone <br /> <br />Soft breezes in the milky darkness <br />Caress the hairs along my body. <br /> <br />Its a box filled with agitated ravens, <br />their beating wings pass my <br />skin with brushing touches. <br />They are silent and stay in <br />shadows, but move with one body. <br />I know they exist by the movement <br />of the air and the hundreds of eyes <br />stare like polished onyx. <br /> <br />The stench is overwhelming, <br />causing burning tears that flow freely <br />down my dry cracked skin. The smell of dead hopes and slain <br />dreams permeates this place. Gorge rises in my throat <br />and ends on the floor. <br /> <br />I flail towards the wall catching whispers of feathers <br />flitting through fingers. They don't want be touched <br />I hit cold stone bricks, <br />in my prison of thought. <br />The black feathered walls live and breath <br />the poison of indifference.<br /><br />Heath Harrington<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/melancholy-s-feathers/
