A sparrow sat upon a fence,
its heart racing, in a frantic state,
its tiny being twitching, movement jolts,
sharp and antagonizing,
tiny talons fixed, unable to flee.
A feathered mind in purgatory,
fear leeching fervently into reality,
but frozen in its thoughts, paralyzed,
indecision like a viscous glue,
the sparrow a captive of its own anxiety.
It dared no look above,
each shadow the sting of apprehension,
and with its last and final will, it fell forward,
in exhalation, wings spread,
to swoop the ground below, the sanctuary of vines ahead.
Its body smooth and streamlined,
caressed by the ephemeral air,
held as if by embrace, on the warmth rising,
as closer those vines became.
Then, the shadow,
two powerful talons clutched and tore,
breathless sparrow, mind gone black,
fell from flight,
still as a the darkest night, eyes vacant.
Perhaps it knew, its time,
foresaw the swift and final blow from life,
driven to rest from that shadow hawk,
fast, eloquent death, delivered,
the end of dreams.