repost, revision, (matured) poems are like caring for a garden, each is a flower that needs tending to, too grow into a bigger brighter more beautiful blossom, and the garden always needs weeding out,
It’s so hard to balance myself every day on a pole With my wings all clipped, and cut out with my soul Hung on a ceiling, it may just as well be a hole Where I am perched at the edge where I rock and I roll As an old church bell rings out the names of many a free soul It’s so hard for me to find my way, and to ever be free Where on this pole, I only see the outside of a glass wall I dream of flying away each day but will they ever let me? Even if I fell off the perch, and hurt, there is nowhere to fall I am just so tired of balancing myself on this old cold pole If not I can’t see outside and dream I break thru the glass wall If I drop to the bottom again, I know I won’t see anything at all Like in the dark of the night, there is nothing to see at all As the curtain each night is pulled over to hide the glass wall As I wait alone hung out on a porch on a hook and a pole With only dreams to fly, one day on the other side with you all And with no one to help me out of this dark caged hole Where I sit and I wait to hear the bells ring their very next toll Hung out in the cold dark night, on a hope and a dream to be free As I wait by the window hoping the next bell that rings is for me
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