I’m sitting like the birds on a wire.
Sometimes I’m too tired to spread my plumage and fly.
Perhaps I feel my feathers aren’t so colorful.
Then again, who enjoys color now-a-days?
I refuse to sit there being aimed at by a pistol.
I'm afraid I’ll break a wing and fall.
I’m a bird with cold eyes,
With a voice you haven't heard yet.
When it rains I’m not smart enough and get wet.
My feathers will take long to dry.
Maybe I am bright, who said I wasn’t trying?
I’ll rise.
I’ll fly!
I’ll spread my wings and...
Maybe die.
I can’t do it,
I can’t speak.
But I will do it,
This hawk is not weak!
I will sore my soaring wings till I accomplish the divide.
Between insane and rational.
Look at me.
I’m flying.