I’m acquainted with the caged bird’s song,
That which informs his melodies
His lonely fate, behind the bars,
Is just the reason that he sings.
He peers at the world outside his caste,
Watches ever from afar
For even when the door is open
He cannot live beyond those bars.
The bars aren’t wrought of iron,
The door not made of stone.
But he lacks the certainty of self
He needs to stand alone.
And so he trudges on by day,
Pondering by night,
Of what his life could, or would be,
If he dared take flight.
Though he may never find within
That which he needs to fly,
He acquiesces to contentedness
In watching life pass by.
So when the world around him beams,
He whistles songs of joy,
And when crumbles downward,
Musical tears he will employ.
But sadder yet than any song
That I’ve heard him impart
Is the song he whistles upon pondering
His stance of caged heart.