Leaving backstage,
you take the last door.
You're escaping your cage,
that kept you chained to the floor.

You're running forever,
you don't plan on stopping.
Then in your hand there's a feather,
and it leaves you gawking.

That feather is white,
and an owl flies overhead.
The peace you feel is bright,
and yet you still imagine the dread.
...
Of the next choice you will make...

*To be continued