Up upon his city perch,
nestled in obsidian dark.
His keen eye’s never-ending search,
until it meets it’s mark.
Dispensing empty shells into the restless night.
Never wavered with the rain.
The thrill of will’s first flight.
His conviction far extends his frame,
his hunger never waiting.
Peering through forsaken sky,
aloft tenuous debating.
His instincts are surgical, whispering to “fly.”
Threw himself to the winds.
Nevermores are our goodbyes.
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