The oblivious avian
Has yet to comprehend
The existence ****** upon him.

Atop his perch,
Peering through the gilded bars
Of his confinement -
He awaits the feeder to be stocked
And chirps
At the idea of assured sustenance,
At the thought that this space,
This place, is his own
Through this glass house he peers -
The cage became a home
And over time hes grown
To accept that life is as it is, but

The life he lived
Was not his,
This collective of feathers
Has failed to see, that
He can live a life,
He can simply be
Devoid of pain and sorrow
But at the cost of not understanding
The use of 'tomorrow'
Or to feel progression
For time has no place
For our fair feathered bird
Whose captivity grasps
Further than he can retrace.

Currency is of no use to him
And time is a human construct
A lack of philosophical conduct
Would argue there is no price
To the life he lives...

His wings are not bound, yet
He is bound from flight
The room is warm at night,
Yet never feels quite right
The songs he sings are
Only replied with echoes
Of what could've been...

As he watches the fireplace nearby -
A mesmer of light
The glimmer in his eyes
Gets just a little less bright.

The epiphanised avian
Has just begun to comprehend
That redemption is ****** upon him.