As I write,
I capture winged bits of me
like birds in cages.
Feathered confessions to be heard
and lessons to be learned--
not easily captured, or created to be,
but so captivating up close.
They sing back my song, my story
whistle whistle chirp chirp
an imperfect mimic to my true melody.
This Soul is more free than these flying things,
but humanity has clipped my wings.
Witness my desperate, fluttering attempt to soar
as I know in my birdie bones I was born to!
Please don't fill my cage with cheap plastic toys
and ladders that lead nowhere
and bells that can only make heartless noise.
Don't antagonize me, you bird brain.
From my corner cage, I can hear the rain on the window pane
and smell the wild air that leaks through door cracks.
I catch glimpses of the horizon
and sense the changing of the wind.
On clipped wings I will fly,
there is no stopping me.
