Ensnared by the nets or the shots
By bullets or arrows that strike right through
The soul or the heart or even the life
Tearing it into two or more
By all means, death!
Life of a bird,
Not so welcoming or promising
It's just fate for those who live long
But mostly it's blind luck for the most
That fly through the sky
With wings in hope that the winds
Would lead them to places they can find the means
To collect and call it a home
Despite the bitter seasons
Sweet dreams over the wishful clouds
That they avoid for a clearer view to see through
The reality down there, anywhere
Harsh, but no matter what,
They fly with despair today
Yet with the will
To at least find a little to fill their bellies' a part
And come back to the found and built home
With a hope full of tomorrow
Yet with the fear of being lost and killed
No will, no independence, no freedom, no security
Fear,
All a prisoner among their four walls;
The sky their limit,
The arrows, the bullets at their throat,
The empty starving homes their reality,
The ground their end
And so the birds of doom!
Within the life tangle of wires
Just when the known fires
Will roast them to toast
YOU ARE READING
Nobody Understands
PoesieLike a bird, hatched out the broken shell, with a promised fate yet an unsure one. As its wings bloom with luxury, the wind its companion, the lost treasure its treat, the whole world its vision, the seasons would be its reasons, yet all these freed...
