Melancholia

I am the rook afar- of soot and grating voice formed to your reflection in my distant eye; and yet- I am not so black as I appear from wings outstretched I soar and observe, watching life pass me below the land beneath doesn't seem so threatening from on high but should my wings break, my spirit crushed, my feathers plucked I would fall to earth in silence spiralling in descent, and you would see My feathers are shot through with the most beautiful purple and blue