How do a crow share it's view

When no one's been filling

The sky it's own blue?

There was nothing but sheer silence

In the fields of it's own land,

Like how the lonely bird's mind

Mind's it's own lone presence.

Some speaks of lies out of it's own mouth,

Whilst the disabled beak speaks nothing but a true chirp,

Nothing out of pride and prejudice.

A cry of 'Mayday' may show a day it's true gay,

Flay the Sunday it's real gray, will it still stay in the crowd's core?

And will this views of mine be heard, at least?

When during the seconds I chirp you never move.

Comical it seems, speaking out of turn was to be taken as an option

And the boy who cried wolf is a jest.

Enough, I said, 'tis branch I swear looked like a human

Made to scare my kind.

Humans, impudent and menacing.

With the freedom to fly, we've been driven away.

With their freedom to kill for no living is a must.

To be in our sanity is a sin to be discussed,

To discard such ability for thy morality, with fired shots.

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CREDITS for the image of this context.