You lift your wings, but then you did not let go
and what you thought was goodbye, was really hello.
You were meant for the sky, but chained to the land
you recite pretty lies because they were in demand.
You never left this place carved from comfort and fear
of unknown paths that lay somewhere out there.
You grew bitter at the bars but sadly complacent
of the day you let yourself to this containment.
So weak wings flutter at the bars of your cell
and chains rattle with your breath, but you never tell
how you could fly if you would only let go.
But silence, like a cancer, can only grow.