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.
This is not about a bird. Then again, it is. Thanks for reading!