The painted bird
All brilliant golds
And shimmering red, green, blue
Lived inside a gilded cage
Drinking up any glimpse
Of sunshine
Of blue sky
Of outside.
Pining
Wishing
Longing
To fly amongst
The pillow soft clouds
To feel the breeze
Whisper over wings
That had never
Beat freely since Time began.
The painted bird
Despaired
Abandoned Hope
And resigned itself to death
Without ever really
Knowing life.
Now, the painted bird
Sings
One last
Song
And with it's dying breath
The painted bird
Flies
Into the blue sky
It always longed for