The Caged Bird

My soul has wings, but my body has none. I sit trapped in a cage of flesh unable to soar, yet I sing.

Often I find myself at my desk with something on my mind and only a keyboard to share it with. This is one of those times.

Today I feel trapped, a bird with beautiful wings meant to soar the bluest skies, but I can't even see them from my cage. I can't reach out and touch the heavens as I was designed to do.

In the past, I have mused as to why a caged bird still sings. I have considered that they sing because captivity is all they have ever known. I have wondered if their song wasn't a cry of desperation, hope that another would hear and free them. If somehow the song reminded them of those skies they would never fly in again.

Today, I think it is a voice that can not be restrained by any cage, both real and imagined. It is not a call for hope or remembrance of the past, but the sound hope would make if given a tongue. I may no longer soar the skies but by god, I will sing. I will sing into the night, where the darkness will feel my song and beg for the light. I will sing for the sun and it will shine bright. I will sing.