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Lonely bird,
Lonely bird,
all alone
Lonely bird
Lonely bird
on its own,
no type of empathy, or
sorrow is shown,
just sad and lonesome,
no friends, all alone,
just sitting on a tree branch,
singing lullabies,
fighting back tears,
of lonely bird cries,
Lonely bird,
Lonely bird,
questions why???
why are you so lonely,
as you weep and cry,
Lonely bird,
Lonely bird,
wipe your
tears away,
You have a Friend in Jesus
He will Brighten up your day!!


B.R.
Date: 3/2/2025
Broken wings have I
Seeking sunset skies
They fear what happens when I fly
Longing after sunset skies

Keeping on
Keeping on
For what else am I meant to do?
Lying broken
Bloodied wings
But I keep on fighting on for you

Crying out with broken beak
Begging for reprieve
Pleading pleading, please don't leave
Without you, don't know what I'll do

They wish for me to stay down low
righteously afraid
afraid they are, of me, you see
So they cannot let me go

I know, I know
I know so well
that suffering is sure to follow
this pain this pain of every day
is insolent and hard to swallow

Hold me tight
tight as you can
but I will sure escape
beating newly strengthened wings
I leave you in my wake

you tried you failed
to keep me here
alive I am and will not fear
anything that comes my way

Surely you have learned by now
surely I have shown you
You cannot hold me down!
I laugh for joy and fly away
You dig a hole deeper than what gravity can hold down;
put your phone down – making those comments just to
ring the crowd up.

You’ll never fly any higher than an ostrich; but you play
their popular myth, when you bury your head in the dirt –
to cover up your face, with false scales of makeup making
up your worth.

Maybe as I missed the translation of when someone says,
“bed” to the word bird – to believe you rest in the nest
of your fears; never to leave that habitat, to soar above
the world.

Seems a habit not to face your fears –
sitting on your wings!
Carlo C Gomez Feb 13
~
Restless traveler
sit still,
and look pretty
under the apple tree

the interconnection,
your milligram smile,
best in motion,
you run with honey

you pond and stream,
rivers in your mouth,
the deep taste of survival,
so few will remain, after
the pollinator

with dizzy spells in flight,
a promise flits away
from your swear jar,
you and your wings
mean more to me
than milestones
of osmosis

But is it me
you'll really miss?

~
Emery Feine Feb 10
You look at me in disappointment,
yet you have crushed my wings.
You are now furious at me,
now that I cannot fly.
"No bird soars too high if he soars with his own wings."
-----------
To sit atop
a throne
of pikes
with swin-
ging ankles
grazing clo-
uds of milk.
Above the w-
eary world, a-
way, way up
high.
------‐----------------------------------------
Looking down at salty, earthed disl-
ikes, and infections rankled. When dre-
ssed in robes of silk, unfurled. Woven fr-
om a lowly worms squirming, teary cry.
-----------------------------------------------------------
­A squ-           And, i-                      Thorn
inting             t's pre-                      curls, r-  
  eye m-           y, all, a-                     ed. As
   akes              re tan                       our flo-
   out a              -gled.                       ck, slow-
   shrike.              ----                           ly, die.
      ----                                                      ----

© poormansdreams
A poem about the shrike, it's thorn and a throne.
As,
the, curious,
beak, cracks, through,
the shell.
The curvature, splits. Like, a
crooked spine, in, Corruption's; hu
-nched, charlatanic, back. Memor
-ies; scramble. As, yokes, are, unhitch
-ed, from; cheats of burden. They walk,
with, precise, apexed, chins. Held high.
Elevating, to; poached, classy, cultured, chambrés. From, collapsing shacks. I
-ronically, the highbrows, never sense,
the cliffs, as they, edge, ever-closer, to,
their; flipped, scripted, skyscraping,
demise. Now, ovalled. Over. Easy;
is the fall. The, unlucky, Moon,
stays, risen. For, a baker's,
dozened, months. Rot
-ten. Unable to;
evac.

© poormansdreams
Oliver Feb 1
I wake to walls I did not build,
A space too small, a name too still.
They call me by a voice not mine,
A shape I wear, but never will.

The world beyond hums soft and bright,
A distant place I’ve yet to claim.
I trace its edges in my mind—
A whispered truth without a name.

The mirror shifts, the cracks run deep,
Yet in them, something starts to grow.
Not wings, not fins, but something else—
A self I’ve always seemed to know.

So let the door be rusted shut,
Let silence press against my skin.
I’ll carve a window with my hands—
And let the light come pouring in.
This Poem is about being trans and stuffs. I took some inspiration from the song Rule #4 - Fish in a Birdcage by Fish in a Birdcage.
bluebird courting
on each branch he bobs
up and
down
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