Living in pigeon holes
boxed in with closed doors
Restricted, obstructed, constricted views
Brightly painted doors for happy beginnings
Cities that lure with their fake promises
playing with real lives
Too hungry to refuse, they play along with a hope
Someday, that door will open
like a dream come true
but to where, no one really knows
Why do they fall prey anyway?
What difference does it make to pigeons
what colour the door of their prison is!
The gilded cage always tells a story; Some dank, however golden the bars maybe.
Reminded of This –
“Two men looked through prison bars.
one saw mud,
the other, stars”
Some day, when the door opens,
i may have no more use for the freedom that it offers. having got used to the silent confines of my prison.
Thanks M fr the poignant words.
Every word hits in this piece so that it builds to the last piece and slaps the reader/witness with the underlying “truth” of the work. I resonate with the “truth telling” spirit of this poem. It feels honest and strong. Thank you for sharing it with us. I would definitely say that this would be one for submission.
Gosh, really? Thank you!
for sure!
Love how pwople become pigeons in the poem! And who cares what colour the door is to the prison. Lovely. Thank you.
Thank you so much for your encouragement, Richard! I have no training in writing, I just write what I feel. So, encouragement will surely keep me writing on. 🙂