futile

the bird flies on the horizon,

trailing behind you.

you turned your face once,

or was it twice?

it did not falter,

losing some feathers along the way.

you knew it was in pain,

as you turned around one last time.

and then it stopped

a sad look cast upon its face,

signaling the end of the chasing game.

                ###

the bird flies again on the horizon

with a wounded heart that it knew will never heal.

it flies and it falls,

it now knows how to love in vain.