Pinioned Spirit

Wings chained to a whistle

eyes blinkered by coarse leather

all to deceive the wild of its power

offer a soul to a thud of a broom

Hold with plastic grass on a hand

Keep it down, keep it weak

forget the sky opening at its feet

Forget the fear its claws hold

Remember only the dark

And swoops on command

to what it doesn’t know

Falling down and up and up and down

Framed in tourist’s pictures

silent foreign figurehead

on loop

To remind a bird it’s not free

is to break a soul into captivity

Does it know its power?

Or does it stay in rough bonds

because every other life holds the unknown

expected paths strain the heart less

and extend wants endlessly

to uncertain then impossible dreams

stepping off risks the molded clay

to shatter one by one

every notion of our reach

sometimes better to break

than to live in a vase of our own making

but to summon the force for destruction is hard enough

to lose limits is to lose roots

mistakes are packaged with the new

freedom or safety is the wrong question

instead I wonder where the boundary blurs

where tripping is worth it

where surety doesn’t constrain

where a burning soul can shine

If such a place exists,

perhaps in a rich imagination

or an expansive home formed for one selves

in truth, we compromise freedom for safety

and safety for freedom in every choice

yet look up for the irrational, irrepressible human hope

that one day the bird will soar unfettered

and we can smile at dancing clouds and blooming dreams