i drink the tears of weeping birds

o ye of the several thousand feathers
(give or take a few hundred)
time has gone over to the other side
and unfolded into the blessings of the swarm
'tis true, yea, 'tis true
and yet, 'tis somehow sorta false
like all things such as these

i behold the majesticity of your majesty
searching for the truth of all things
in a few pecks of lowly seed
while soaring high above it all, etherized
in the azure skies at dusk and dawn
looking down among the nightingales
and releasing a foul whitish liquid from your innards