Glass Jar

Caught at the bottom of the glass jar, the grasshopper sits

unable to free itself through the holes up top--

slits wide enough for oxygen to ensure it survives,

but not wide enough to thrive.

Time ensures it rots from the inside.

Its jumps for freedom gradually declined.

I have seen, with my own eyes, the fire in a child's heart extinguished,

hosed down by corporate media politicizing classrooms,

leaving no room relinquished.

There's only enough to breathe,

and to watch the rising sun through windows, beyond reach.

It would seem the grasshopper is trapped for the rest of its life.

But, change promises flowers grow where death resides.

There are graveyards full of haunted souls.

If they could speak, they would scream--

to frighten the grasshopper enough to leave,

even if it meant cracking its head.

Anything is better than surrendering the soul to the devil in defeat.

Preparation is key; this is the only time it will bend the knee.

As it spreads its wings to fly,

it realizes the glass jar's only barrier is the lid of its mind.