Crows & Ravens Bad luck shadows these black birds, as they are known as tricksters. Their speech sounds like death to mortals. Their presence radiates misunderstood evil. How many chances can life make with mine? Cursed I am within this concealing room. Fight or flights are my odds. My wings are clipped, so flight is pointless. Dubbed I am as the fighter of freedom. Locked I am in a steel cage.

Delirium ripples into my sanity. Fear burrows deeper into my delicate soul. Anger sparks flames in my gentle heart. Sadness claws at my blackened pupils. Hunger awakens deep within. I peck, I claw, I snap at the lock. I screech a forgotten dialect. My voice is simply voiceless.

Carelessly food is tossed in. Water rains from the sky. One hand unlocks it. I strike, blood trickles. I claw; I struggle to obtain freedom's scent. I hop; I hop from oppression's gate. Never am I to return to the devil's domain.