I didn't wish for this.

God,

Today I held a little bird
in the palms of my hands.

It was so warm.

I want to know,
why it had to die so slowly,
without a drop of morphine
to ease the pain.

God,

You created birds to be like hearts.
They are the things we want to hold close,
and to murmur honeyed words to.
They are things we want to stroke,
because they're so soft and beautiful.

And they are so fragile to the touch.

God,

They can be smothered and they can be crushed,
I know.

I could feel its' last breath
on my skin.
I could feel the pangs of suffering
diffuse into my fingertips-

And I just want to know,
why did you choose this little bird?

Author notes

It's been awhile since I've written a poem instead of prose. I really do miss it.

I like the detachment at times.

Anyway, take this poem how you wish.
It has multiple meanings and I'm sure
each person has their own perception.