Simra Sadaf Jun 29
little bird locked
           in a cage,
     with broken promises
            flowing from
                          her wrist,
                waiting for her nerves
                           to untwist,
                    she
                          wants
                                 to fly,
                             f  l  y
                                a
                              w
                                a
                                  y
                                   .
                                  .
                                 .
SoVi May 3
I lived in a country of thieves
Motivated by hearts and passions
Stealing love affection
Leaving broken pairs
But you asked me for my love
At that time I fell in love

You really thought I'll leave you
When he offered me riches?
You are everything that I have wanted
I'm afraid that you'll regret

If you are going to think again
Please do not tell me
I do not want to know your epiphany
Let me live in ignorance

How did I live in a country of thieves?
With people who do not even know they want
Stealing everything in your sight
Leaving broken hearts
You taught me that there is still good
I was given the gift of compassion



© Sofia Villagrana 2018
George Krokos Apr 16
The caged bird sings because
it longs for freedom
to fly and be with its own kind
and to know what life is really about
and be able to share it with a soul mate.

That's why the caged bird sings -
a song of hope and for all we know
a mournful yet beautiful sad song
of longing for the life
it was created for and dreams of having
instead of being cooped up in a cage
playing a role that was
never intended by nature
for it to have and live
as a captive showpiece
for a higher evolved form......
the ultimate expression of cruelty
- to deprive another creature
of its natural born freedom.....

That's why the caged bird really sings!
Written today on the spur of the moment after reading
tHE cAGED bIRD  by Mister Granger on the front page of H.P.
I know why the caged bird sings.

It's not because his song
is as vibrant
as his feathers, that he plucks away
each day because he doesn't
feel beautiful.

It's not because of the majesty
that exist in the freedom
of being able to spread his wings
though he knows
he'll never rise to the occasion.

He sings because he believes
that this cage
was made for a king
because he has never tasted
freedom with a side order of skies.

He's never flown past the sun
on a cool morning
or hung with the moon
on a warm night.

He's only ever known
the comfort of a prison
that his thoughts have
become accustomed
to calling home.

He would never venture
beyond the "welcome" mat
because what's beyond the threshold
holds no promise
the way these bars and metal locks do.

He sings because he knows
that no one is listening
so if he makes a mistake
he doesn't have to live with the regret
or embarrassment of knowing that he missed his note.

The caged bird
never believes that he's caged
because behind these walls
he's safe
and he prefers it this way.

I know why the caged bird sings.
A twist on a title by one of my favorite authors...
Lyn-Purcell Sep 2017
As I arabesque in the dark,
the hands of time slip on by.
Chained by inability to feel
anything apart from duty.

Clutching me,
heart and soul,
body and mind,
the tendrils of melancholy
embraces me as I leap through the air
with broken wings; the moon dims
but I see the waving of golden
threads in the air.

Am I nothing but
a gilded-caged nightingale?
Bound to be a drifting leaf?
Where my trills are soft and sweet
but no one hears nor sees me?

A dying lilt, and a frail enchantment.
Poem from my journal
Paul Jones May 2017
The wet, basalt sands      sing songs with the light,
mirrors the spirit      of a starry night.
21:15 - 10/05/17
State of mind: joy, comfort.

Thoughts: from memories - walking along black sands combined with Blake's line's 'to see a world in a grain of sand...'.

Question: Light and sound are both waves. We talk about composing music with sound. How can we make music with light?
Andrew T Apr 2017
We walked through the woods,
when it was growing thick with shadows, the way smoke funnels
out a chimney. She wore a hoodie and yoga pants,
attire to match her mood: relaxed and comfortable.
Her eyes reminded me of what lies beneath puddles,
after a rainstorm had passed through
the small hometown, which disowned you.
We wrote songs while sitting on tree stumps,
chewing tobacco and drinking gin.
Because, we wanted people to write movies about us,
like the ones they played before the explosion
took out a half of Paris, DC, and Sydney.
Test me again, and I will never talk to you,
you said those words and you meant it.
I regret ever running
into you at the house,
and falling for you,
like how I'm falling
over on my ass.
And now we will never text,
have a conversation,
or hold each other in bed.
Kiss me goodnight,
but don't say
that you ever cared about me,
because I don't believe
in the lyrics,
your favorite musician sings.
Cress Rosario Dec 2016
She sings when no one can hear
She sings, “Hello!” to the morning
Dances under the sunshine
Lights up the stars of night sky

She sings when garden blooms
She hums when sorrow looms
She sings her pain away
She sings her love today
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