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Captive Soul
My soul is a slave imprisoned by my skin,
My spirit is strong, yet constrained by sameness’s sinister grin,
My thoughts are those of a skeptic, knowing wind will one day break the mast,
My eyes are those of an artist, seeing splendor and making it last,
My words are those of a poet, letting elegance cast,
My hands are the lowest branches on tree, reaching for the brightest light,
My feet are gentle and soundless, like those of a centenarian tortoise,
My back has wings, though they know not of flight.
My poem is the sea, when it lets its beings ascend,
My poem is a hurricane, at its end,
My poem is what happens when the world ends for all,
My poem is, after the fall.
I am a novel; no one shall ever dare read,
I am a piece of artwork, you have to step away to see,
I am the golden fish in the school of white ones,
I am me, someone with individuality.
You are the cage of conformity I am bound to and I am the rebellion that is beginning.
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This article has 3 comments.
"I know why the caged bird sings", the poem, inspired me.