the will or the way

 -vrinda kohli

I saw it there
on blood-stained blades
of grass and metal alike:
blood all around and a broken wing.
the marks of a journey
deemed more worthwhile than a life
marked its body:
the brown paint on a canvas the color of a sky full of song.

And all I could think was
if the wing broke first or did the neck?
did motion swing the axe, or was it the rest?
but I had to walk away
for my journey
was more worthwhile
than a death.

It's been days since I saw
that flightless bird
and now my sleep has flown too;
for I can't help thinking
what is lost first?
the will, or the way?