Oh, the golden chains of practicality. Trading one childhood for another for the sake of comfort and stability. But what of those who live their dreams freely, recklessly?
~~~*~~~
Trapped.
Always a caged bird.
They clipped the tips of my wings
So I wouldn’t fly away;
Drew lines in the sand
With tiny metal bars.
They stroked my feathers
And set down a feast of seed;
Caressed my beak until
It comfortably shut.
When my bones were strong
They said, “now you are free.”
Ring jingling about my leg,
They released me into the wind.
But I chose another cage.
There I have been waiting,
Watching dark speckles
Zip and twirl across the sky.
When they dive I see
They are birds like me.
Their feathers matted and worn,
Mine waxed and iridescent.
But their souls fly
While mine yawns, stretches,
And gently dies.