Falling Feather

White, with an allure beyond pure,
the feather fell from the sky.
The battle it came from, we surmise,
good versus evil should not be a surprise.
As it fell everything seemed to slow,
air rushed up, causing the feather to glow.
Turning, twisting, resistant on its fall
making the wounded wind cry and call.
Eerie, the cast-out sound of distress,
purity writhing against dirtiness.
Smoke, cinders, and flame flickering,
mortals bickering stop and stare;
but self-absorbed lack the sense to care.
The feather casts a spell of falsehoods
…all façades hiding hell;
and a warning not to be forgotten
of something darkly selfish and rotten.
When the feather landed life resumed
as if all its energy had been consumed,
and all that was left was black ash
and a scar on mercy like a blade slash.