High cries. High cries disturbed my evening pause, A Pitch too High for comfort, and a sound too steep for solace. I found myself an observer, unwilling bystander, as Players soared, seeking life, and death - A meal made from loss, and the breaking of heart strings. I sat still for a moment, alert and listening, as a song begun in anger grew shrill with frustration. I stood, then, looked to the sky, as feints and ploys grew desperate - Failing finally. Love lost, and hunger abated. A scream, then, born of madness. No longer lyrical, nor pleasing to the ear. Fury, tuned first to frustration, and then to a wail so full of woe that it burns the ears and stings the eyes. This is Madness! Love lost. How can Flight remain an option in the face of such pain?
