Cold Bird


Cold is the bird that
Sits in my throat, cold and dead
She sings no longer
Her life, very short
Vibrant and happy, was she
And great in her speech
Her death, bittersweet
She won't sing what will not please
But she will not sing
I could not let her
Continue singing for me
So she had to die
Her song would have been
Far too sad for any friends
For my family
But alas, she rose
Like the phoenix, she's reborn
In the form of words
Words, spilled from my pen
That ink will tell my story
Even if it hurts
But she's still frigid
She will remain my cold bird
Forever freezing

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