Clipped wings

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.