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.