A study in Poetry

Down The Pigeon Hole

I can hear cars roar wild outside,
There's a vague desire to join them.
My wings bleed, shot, but I haven't died.
There's a light up above,

This place.
Stories printed on old brick walls,
Fading back into existence with time in this case.
Beams of wood and pipes hover above as the light gleams in from the
unknown.

In my dreams of flight,
All there is outside is a bright blank canvas, full of noise.
It is still an unknown, a static purgatory makes this my plight.
In a years time, I begin to see

More and more of the vast outside world of nothingness.
Dirt is found in my sleep,
Then trees grow larger than the loch ness.
Last of all, oceans fill gaping holes of dark caverns that glow in the night.

Now, I am free.
Winds ruffle my feathers, tossing and turning.
It's cold but there's so much more to see.
That is until I awake from my slumber.

My hair soaked in cold water.
I'm human.
It's a curious feeling, but it's said to be fodder.
"Wake up".

It's time to climb the brick walls,
Perhaps my ecstatic mind will let me fly.
Among the chaos of the wake up calls,
I jump.

The distance to the ground,
Was but a foot,
I found.
There is nothing more than what I made this reality to be.

I get up,
Wipe the dirt off,
Grab a coffee cup,
There's a bleeding wound on my arm, but I haven't died.

There's more to this world,
And it's going to change,
I can feel it, I nearly hurled
Feathers.

This is not a dream.
I rest my head and see a reality
Where people think in the color of emotions.
It's wonderful at the seems.

Until, I realize this world is crumbling.
The cold thought of science ruling the world,
Terrifies me until I see the world is frozen at the seems, held together by the cold.
Winds make me toss and turn but I'm still on my feet.

I'm bleeding in shades, no longer.
My blood turns red, the cold forces me to fight, warming me.
It all makes sense, but amidst the noise, few can see.
I fall to the ground, the last thing I see is a wall crumbling in stories, my face is printed on the side.

Only those on of top the wall, or hanging on floating beams will see it.
They are the ones who escaped
The pigeon hole.
They decide how the old and new fit.