Monday, July 28, 2008

Little Bird

I don't know how you got there,
Or how I will get you free,
Unless it is to just let you die away,
Until your body decays,

Until you know that your wings will never,
Grow because you don't have the space,
Or a future in the dark dingy hole,
Which nature prescribed you to embrace.

I will never help you except to help myself,
Because to do otherwise would hurt,
The people I have sworn to protect,
And so, I choose to be inert.

And, if it's alright,
I ask that you be silent with your curse.
Your situation is one of such direness,
You could only make others' lives worse.

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