Imperial Cage
The door; this door in front of my tired eyes,
How still my weary lies—encumbered pace;
Does longing vindicate my weary cries,
Or does one need to trace my engraved face?
While birds of sylvan shades have flown aside,
As flames engulfed the land: a swift-paced tongue.
The pain has spread across my cage; beside
The unchained spur of fear—possessed no langue.
Where will they go? where smiles are carved atop
The clouds, the woods, a tavern—Endless stock
Of forlorn hopes that try to fly but flop,
Towards the fair of bad dreams where they flock:
To buy their long-lost stock of freedom high;
My cage dissolved, at last I too can fly.
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