A bird trapped in a cage cannot fly

I am a bird trapped in a cage
But oh how I yearn to soar

If that bird is set free
It will soar and fly
It will come back.

I was a bird trapped in a cage
Oh how I yearned to be free

When I was set free
I soared and flew
And I came back
Because I was given freedom

A calm day,
Former agent Trevor Maximus rested,
Bathing in the sun of summer on his front porch,
A Coke can perched in his hand.
His eyes traced the flight pattern of a humming bird,
Flying silently through the warm summer breeze,
Hovering above the plastic bird feeder, drinking in it's refreshing reward.
Trevor let out a great sigh,
He always thought the artificial red color of the plastic bruised the beauty of the countryside,
Still, he refused to take it down, his late mother loved seeing those strange winged creatures drink from it.

It was then when he got the call,
A ring like screaming compared to the quiet of the country.
Trevor reached to answer the call, but hesitated,
What if he just let it ring? He could go right back to his cold Coke,
And the beautiful touch of the summer winds.
But he decided against it, he didn't have many friends so whoever was trying to reach him must need him desperately.
So he set down his drink and picked up his phone,
Though when he checked the caller ID, he didn't recognize it.
(276)-435-9009, a Virginia area code,
He looked around in a panic, when he had moved out he made a point of avoiding people,
Scared of making any ties.
Trevor took a deep breath and composed himself,
Swiping up the answer button.
"Hello? Trevor Maximus speaking?"
"Hello agent, you have three hours to make your way to the Goslting Square where I and my team will meet you. If you do not show up in the allotted time, we will come to you. Timer starts now."
Silence.

In Rome,
There is silence.
Church bells lay still,
Once grand city,
Echoing the trills of black birds.
Their song, a lost cry of those who died.
In the deathly silence,
Of the plague.

My wings failed me
They can no longer fly
Forgiven, I wished to see
The glory your fins could buy.

Completely different; reverse
Our destiny wasn't the same,
Foolish to assume a converse
Between reins of a different game.

And I shall make reasons,
For I left heaven with this fall.
I committed a treason,
Drowning within the blue hall.

As I die, I wish,
A swim with you
But foolish I must be to think a fish,
Would leap out ocean's blue.

Yet you glide with ease,  
While I, a feathered relic, sink—  
Wings too weary for the breeze,  
A fate far colder than I think.  

The sky once knew my name,  
But the sea whispers none,  
Drenched in salt and quiet shame,  
Falling where no light will run.  

Tell me, do you ever dream  
Of soaring where the echoes call?  
Or is it just my hopeless scheme,  
To think the sky could break my fall?

Who's knocking at my window?
I hear you while I sleep!
Who dare disturb my own slumber!
Oh, it's only the birds,
The wind and the bare trees.
Still, I resent my bed,
The world wakes us for a reason.

The night is born prematurely,
Becoming one in blistering winds,
The dark crawls,

And the snow falls.

The gallant wings of beauty,
Besieged by winter's bellows,
Left to death as the crow calls,

And the snow falls.

The lonesome oaks tremble,
Bare in the white of creeping cold,
Creaking as they are raked by squalls,

And the snow falls.

It's a beautiful ***,
But wouldn't it benefit from some green?
I reckon you better start prepping that soil,
Because we're going to plant a tea tree!
Imagine how wonderful that would be,
Blossoming white flowers, a warm cup and bees.

Oh, imagine a garden full of bumble bees!
Buzzing about the perfect petals,
Pouring pollen into the breeze.
If only we had a garden,
We could sit and lunch,
Pastry, cheese, and the sweet drink from our tree!
Darling, while your out buying seed,
Would you grab a few more pots?

Birds know the way home,
the door that has their name or
how to sing it into existence, if lost.

Through it they find each other
even in a burning world—
they find their being.

And in that last lost sky
they sing it into their feet,
combine it with the dirt’s prophecy.

Look up in the sky, at the birds
and praise these passerine who
can sing open doors we cannot.

The treaty they have made with
the sky includes us for they
treasure the world’s wholeness.

When I was young,
I believed they were 'Morning Doves.'
That they would fly down in the night,
To rest on my lawn.

Now that I'm older,
I know they're called 'Mourning Doves.'
That they were named after their haunting song,
Of all Earth's sorrows and plight.