Soul Bird

The cruelty of caged birds
disturbs me,
then I realise
that we, the jailors,
confine our soul birds
that clamour to fly free.
Fettered and restricted,
echoing our thoughts
in a lament of

excuses

avoidance

and objection.

The sheen on feathers fades,
unused wings grow stiff,
head bows and finally the song ceases.
Reduced to a frail skeleton
the soul bird dies.
Then we, the jailors,
have the temerity to pick the bones
and mourn our lack of freedom.

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