Caged birds still sing,
This case is the same of me.
No matter how many cages,
I will never run out of songs.
Brass, steel, silver, or gold.
None can encase me so
As to withhold my melodies.
My songs will be reminders.
Reminders as to why
Freedom is never truly known,
Until after capture.
They will be reminders that,
Caged birds still sing.
They sing songs,
Of long gone freedom.
Something,
They will likely never know again.
Until death.
And even then,
It poses a question.
A caged bird can still sing,
But,
Can a dead bird?
©5braincelz
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