There is a small sleepy town in the middle of nowhere.

Most would think nothing ever happens out there.

They would be wrong as this town is anything but ordinary.

It is a place where artists are born and raised to the extraordinary.

Painters, sculptors, musicians, and singers work on their masterpieces,

In a place where creativity and beauty never ceases.

 

Though one man in this small town is in a caliber above the rest.

His voice when he sings is so beautiful any angel could only ever hope to be blessed,

His hair shimmers with the colors of a rainbow in the sun after a storm,

And has a beauty and grace to which none can conform.

All who hear him and see him are filled with joy and stop in place,

Everyone in town wishes to be greeted by the smile on his face.

His name is Crow.

 

In the dead of winter when the town is blanketed in snow

A festival brings forth talents to be flaunted for show.

Each year Crow warbles and lyrically chirps for all to hear.

His voice rings out through the crowd both sharp and clear.

 

But everything was about to change 

As Crow opened his mouth to croon the moment turned strange.

Screams instead of letting song

Filled the air and the feeling was wrong.

 

Smoke as black as night rose into the sky as the screech of sirens pierced the air.

Crow followed the crowd and stopped to stare.

The flames danced over the building up and down.

People coughed and cried as they ran from where the flames burn everything to the ground.

 

The only fire fighters were in the next town over. 

So people stood around the burning building getting no closer

Dumping buckets of water over the blaze.

It did nothing but make them feel like rats in a maze.

The water only sizzled 

And evaporated with a fizzle.

 

People started to back away

Thinking everyone was out and okay.

Until a woman started screaming 

Struggling to get back into the building.

“My son is still inside,” she wailed.

Crow stood shock still and began to pale

The crowd shouted everyone yearning,

Pleading for someone to go in and save the child from burning

 

Then Crow knew what was needed.

He ran without being impeded

Almost flying. 

Please Great Spirit let no one be dying.

He gripped one of the buckets 

Doused his body and said “f**k it!”

 

The singer darted from door to door.

Calling out for the child on each floor.

Smoke began to fill his lungs and sting his eyes

While the crackling flames licked at his skin he stifled his cries.

The water he had poured on himself had long since evaporated.

For what seemed like hours he searched while the people outside waited

And Crow found the boy.

 

He was hiding next to an overflowing sink.

Crow didn’t stop to think.

He grabbed the child,

And ran fast and wild.

The man leapt out the door as though he had wings.

 

He and the boy landed in the snow.

The kid was pulled from Crow’s hands and things seemed to slow.

The sound of fire trucks filled his ears,

And he slipped into the dark for what felt like years

 

Time passed and people could only stare 

as Crow walked silently by darkened from ash and gone was his once colorful hair.

His beautiful voice now nothing more than croaks and groans.

His skin raw and burnt from the flames through which he had flown.

 

Most see what once was pretty

And watch with pity.

When they ask if he feels regret

Crow only looks at them and yet

He smiles the same stunning smile that reaches his eyes

And replies 

“What is a beautiful voice when compared to a life that has yet to truly fly?”