Caged Birds

These thoughts inside my head,

The thoughts that can't be heard,

Nor can these thoughts be said;

Born to stay a caged bird.

 

The only method to be unchained,

Is through this paper and pen.

Yet still to my head thoughts remain appertained,

To only be re-written again and again.

 

The ink lingers long on the pages,

Seeming to become a stain of endless profundity.

As I recall all the memories from past ages,

They seem to blend together in a form of abstrusity.

 

The ink drops form as if bits of rain,

Raindrops on a cloudy, white paper landscape.

These raindrops draw the rest of the plane,

Drawing grass, skies, and even the sea's beautiful cape.

 

These things they draw, they seem so real,

Seeming to be more than just words.

They're every emotion I feel;

The release of previously caged birds.

Reviews

[Megan]

I enjoy this metaphor- of thoughts to caged birds. And writing as a forum of setting them free. As writers we create our landscapes, choose to show our thoughts, feelings, and emotions as how we like. We also get to choose when we free these caged birds. The power of our pen is magnificent.