The Birdcage

The Birdcage

The bird sings softly in its gold,

Its voice both fragile and defiant,

It knows the air but not the wind,

It dreams of flight through quiet silence.

The bars gleam bright like tender lies,

A home disguised as gentle care,

Freedom dangles just beyond,

And the world pretends not to stare.

It asks the dark what freedom means,

If wings still matter when they rust,

If songs are worth the breath they take,

When every note turns into dust.

The cage is safe, the sky unknown,

And safety kills as slow as pain,

The bird grows old within its shine,

Its heart still beating for the rain.

When morning comes, the world forgets,

Another voice has gone unheard,

And silence hums a haunting tune,

For one more long caged bird.