How Many Feathers, Say You

How many feathers, say you? Plucked and counted from a gaping chest, Still nursing its wounds, hoping For a flicker of blood, close to the heart We once swallowed with pride, Gone to our heads, off we go In search of absurd rendition, When the stage has tumbled, its cast Thrown to the wolves, with a bellow and curse, Refusing to sing in a vapor of blood, Dying the days interspersed between nights, Dying a life that pours to the exits, with pride We once swallowed, joy that we killed, Choking anew with coughs, sighs, and gasps, Till Life leaves cross and barks out an order To outrageous Death, biding its time at the wings. So, how many feathers?