My cage is beautiful.
Its roof is painted in pretty blue and white, like peaceful clouds.
I swim in cooling pools of shimmering water,
And dry-off, lounging on feather-pillowed, gold-laced seats.
I step on petals that tickle my feet
As I walk towards a million words, trapped in paper,
Flowing from the consciousness of generations.
My cage is warm when I'm cold and cold when I'm hot
And it smells like summers, fruits and vanilla-lavender fumes.
My cage is peaceful.
I can hear my sighs echo,
I can hear my thoughts take form
And the lullabies of a string quartet.
My cage is safe.
Protective eyes watch over me.
Sparkling solid walls of diamond shield me from outside threats.
Yet, still, I'm going insane.
I've forgotten what it's like to run, to yell,
To take a risk and feel its gain.
I'm trapped in a lovely environment,
But I miss the thrill of catching someone's eye.
I miss the slippery embrace of mud,
And the relief that follows when I wash it all off.
I miss horizons, the palettes of sunset and sunrise,
And I miss the dark.
I miss the unexpected, the rise of hope,
And I miss the weight of freedom.