Falling Feathers(2.0)

Feathers fall without a sound.
Silently stripped from an Angel's wing,
No one ever sees them hit the ground.

Feathers plucked like golden strings
Weaving a melody of hypocrisy,
That plays throughout your nicest dreams
With the sweet and perfect harmony
Of the songs within silent the screams
Of those who fear what the morning brings.

Feathers float in the afternoon air
Witnessing the blind put on masks of all colours
To fool their friends,
Families,
Lovers.
Hearing the deaf proclaim the ideas
Of a little birdie that whispers sweet sounding nothings in their ears.

Feathers grey and feathers white
Are died in colours, gay and bright.
Their own plain truth
Wrapped in a beautiful lie.
More lovely to behold,
More pleasing to the eye.
Overall a spectacle,
Sure to bring much comfort and delight.

A feather is a feather
This will always stay the same
A feather hold no meaning
But that which we deny to find
In our darkest hours
And our tears of shame.