When the Songbirds Sing

As the sky cracked open

it demanded to be heard,

a message sent across the ocean

by a mechanical glowing bird.

It didn’t sing to rise the sun,

but sang all the same

and burned like one.

So many sickly songbirds 

screeching across the sky,

but the true horror begins

after their melodies die.

With painful precision, 

and as robotic as it can be,

a songbird gram

delivered by both you, and me

I wasn’t there when the songbirds came, 

littering the skies and land,

but I saw them all the same, 

made of the very materials of the device in my hand.