birds are free to fly and soar the skies
while we're hostage of gravity and the ground,
tied by human limbs and tasks, money and bonds,
our friends who deceive us and
families we do not trust.
no feathers to rely on, no bird or angel
can help us leave the floor,
we'll only go down with the passage of time.
there's no hope or sky for the living self,
as there is no ground for
the birds we chase from it.
each to their realm.
pitying each other envying each other
for the ability we do not have.
no escape or faith or help from our enemies,
nothing to change our flesh and life.
our blood carries something but it isn't pretty,
it isn't beautiful, no time to run,
there are no wings on your back and
no feathers on my arms.
this is no way to live. live. live. leave.
this, fear my flight, I would fall to fly,
feel the gravity at its most and decay,
like the angel;
we will all become light.