For the birds

I wrote this a few days ago, it was night, I couldn't give the particulars, but it was fairly late and I was, as always, suffering the cold of the front room for the purposes of some senseless distraction. (From what, we are all entitled to ask...) Sometimes I yearn for company, and sometimes it makes me furious. This was a case of the latter, but as every one else slept, the birds sang, and it was for them that I grew courage to write. Some other things were occurring within my mind, too, they shall not be divulged.

Sing, Bird,
sing.
Your voice fills
this ill lit room
and spreads about
the still strewn out carcasses
that have lingered here
since yesterday.
Idling by, they stretch
across sofa and chairs.
Though the sun is sank,
sent to
with the hearkening
of night-
Steady night
I look to you
for comfort
for answer
for escape,
and birds beckon mind:
"Take flight!"
as they lull me to them
drowsily,
alert to my exhaustion
I surrender
to the commingling
of the cold night and
the heat against my back.
   To the absence
and noise; to the
insular aspect of
company; to
feigning smiles and eyes
that search for love
and where they lock,
find none.
   To treachery.
To never being right.
For innumerable
pressure and sense:
   I surrender...
while the birds
yet call me home.