Like a mute spectacle I stand, sighing,
sadly staring at the silent caged birds
that are now walking instead of flying;
i often worry that I'll lose my words.
Beautifully adorned I sit, thinking,
lamenting gorgeous juxtapositions,
ornate phrases, and new wonders—blinking,
i admire my strict living conditions.
Exhausted, so now down I lie, sobbing,
wondering to myself about this cage
that impedes my spirit and is robbing
me of my ability to feel rage.
I open my mouth to formulate sound,
hoping for an idea I haven't found.