The day the birds died

[Keith]

Of cracked walls, I am born.
Scratching biting and beaten,
moved my position to keep warm,
hunger rides my frame.

Blind sibling fights for survival,
losing grip I do the same.
No cover comfort here,
no swelling in my stomach.

Should my ground be guarded,
before tumble turns to hurt,
stretch my neck to be noticed
against yellow gnashing jaws.

The calm of night, no flight
we lay translucent in decay.