Pain Peacock

Squawk.

The sound of the withered, whirling trees starts to fade.

Swish.

As quiet as a sneaky mouse.

Sway.

As I open my colourful feathers,

Waiting to be noticed.

Alone, am I.

Waiting for the familiar noises.

Forced.

In an empty forest.

Ache.

In dry, lonely forest.

Pain.

As I waddle around,

Squawk, swish, sorrow,

Waiting to be heard.