The Feather

There dwelt a feather
In a mysterious land
It was the softest of its kind
It's colours grand
It moved hither and thither
Not sure what was
It somehow got more colorful
In its own confusion.

Then one day,
The feather landed
on a piece of glass.
A magic glass.
In light, the glass shone
But in its absence was its darkness reveled.
Ugly colours of dark puple, black and red and green
All combined
So ugly was it really,
that it emitted ugly invisble dunes....
Dunes of pain and lustful use
Dunes of mental and physical abuse.

It made the feather jittery,
Up and down it went,
It SHivered within,
But could do nothing.
It screamed with pain
Cried with hurt
Yet its observors
thought the feather was at fault
Screaming, shoutin, robbing their peace
What they didnt catch
Were cries disguised in rage
Pain covered in screams....
Yet the feather remained beautiful.

This one time,
A hard wind blew.
It took the feather away
To its distant land,
The only remains of what had happened
Were ugle walls of the room,
And pieces of glass,
Perished in their own abuse.