wings beat furiously
fast as they ever have
head pounds the window
again and again moves up
down all around the glass
looking for a way out
freedom seems straight ahead
but imprisonment if behind the
clear solid bars of an illusion
so he drops and lands
on the sill to rest
and remembers
close escapes from angry
fly swatters to folded newspapers
chased around so many kitchens and
dining rooms once caught in a fist of
fingers that opened carelessly soon
and knows
this will probably end only one way
death by exhaustion or thirst
inevitable from many days of
struggle against this unseeable
resistance to freedom and as he
readies his wings to try once again
the door opens
and hope flies in
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