Cold

Brushed against my arms, the wings of mighty, cold,
A spectacle to watch by the eye,
Miracle to experience through the eye, lie by my side
Cold!

Once the pinnacle of flight,
Now a husk of former self.
All the heights come to ground,
Lifeless it lies, cold.

Thousands of sceneries seen,
Yet the most engraving be this dumpster.
Devoid of bright colors,
Dead eyes, dull bodies all cold.

Irony is that, the king conquered the sky,
Yet the farewell was far from royal.
From dust he was born, to the dust he fell,
Mouth closed, eyes opened and cold.