Songbird

Bitterly cold,

the sun shines

an icy illusion, yet

she watches the birds

striking the sky, with

 

the promise of warmth,

the harsh, raging,

glow in the sky

light, light

extinguished, it sucks.

 

the air is dry,

the sky breaks,

no safe place,

she watches it,

no signposts in the dark,

 

the blackness crashes

over her head,

the air is calm after a storm.

entrapped within a

glass jar, suffocating, 

 

she is, a corpse, vile,

consumed by this life,

her mask is too firm,

frozen, and beating

against the wall of her mind.

 

silently screaming,

whispering defeat,

it haunts the air,

ashes of a burnt-out fire,

faded.

 

wilting curtains and linen

sat lonely on

a shelf in time,

clouds clung to mountains

without strings, but

 

somewhere she cries,

let me go

inside a gilded cage,

a songbird always

look so plain, so

 

dead.

can't break through

the morning mist.

 

last night, she dreamt

that she grew wings.

 

(P) 2010