The Caged Bird Sings

But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing

Walking bare feet through the warm mud,
worms of slush squeezing between toes,
spring breezes quickening the blood,
forgiving and forgetting woes.
Stretching out like a promised land,
aspiration gloriously beams.
Running through the fingers like sand,
time we had studiously planned.
The privileged heritage streams,
but a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams

Freedom is but a dream perceived,
not appreciate' when in grasp.
Accolades our right when received,
the sweat of our brow and breaths rasp.
Of injustices a defender,
a tome wasting many a ream.
Respect, honor should engender,
but to enmity surrender.
Life lived to the very extreme,
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream

Opportunity's there for all;
talents are bestowed on many.
Listen to the instinctive call.
Regrets? We did not hear any.
Pioneering endeavors offered,
but thru ignorance let it slide
Optimize chances proffered:
careful analysis ordered.
One wrong decision, woe betide,
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied

Hamstrung by accident of birth,
but blessed with inner resolve
and an occasion for mirth:
laughter all melancholy solve.
Glimpsing freedom from oppression,
idyllic occasion rising.
His music, only obsession.
Talent, his only possession.
Much pleasure in lives it did bring,
so he opens his throat to sing.

Glosa inspired by 'I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings', by Maya Angelou

by Suzette Richards

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