Do you remember birds?

How they would sing to their friends.

The wet drippings

of their forest home

would harmonize,

filling the air

with bright green.

In the evenings,

we used to rush to the cliff tops

as the sun dipped

beneath the waves,

casting gold

to the hidden deep.

The world is bare and quiet now.

Breathing, automated.

Animation, blank.

Colors fight to crack

through thick ash.

Heartbreak, constant.

Sometimes, when I first open my eyes,

I forget;

I can almost hear them.

The fierce trills and melodies

echoing in a world that used to sing.