All But Fragile Birds

First poem I've been able to write in forever.

On fine golden chains with numerous names
We fail from the fear of falling.
With Indian eyes and broken spines
We bleed just to know we still feel.
On splintered stilts we raise our self,
To crash into bland disappointment.
With self doubt we restrict ourselves,
And with bloody tears we accuse.
Bruises hold the evidence of lies and truths anew,
But with razor blades and fire flies we silently refuse.
On broken wings we try to fly when all along we're grounded.
Seeping from the hand of God we are silently reminded,
We are all but fragile birds with feathers made of glass,
And constantly reminded that this pain will always last.

Reviews

[Juliet]

I really love the lines
"On splintered stilts we raise our self,
To crash into bland disappointment."

The wording here is fantastic. I don't think I've read this one before, but I enjoy it nonetheless. :)