Flight

“You seek rebellion,”

the lady says to me

Respectfully madame,

i disagree.

Rebellion is no prize i seek

No metaphoric gilded cage i break

i am not a bird, for though i sing

it is not a beak through singing I do ache.

Watching storms brewing o’er dappled hills,

I often gazed upon a windowed sky

I have seen planes streak across the bluest blue

How beautiful, how beautiful, said I.

I have walked along the roman hills

on days in which I sought some small respite

Oaks framed marble palaces on present streets

watched over by the brown grass’ sight.

and as I bike along these streets

i feel hurricanes as cars do pass me by.

It seems as if i am the only one who rattles in this storm

That no one feels that clenching sigh.

In the novel presence of my life

How long i go and go and search

And somehow i am still content

To slouch upon my perch

While others brave the cold

others may choose to roam

Still upon many a night

The night does call me home.

And though i seek rebellion by and by,

I cannot hide the appeal of a high and category sky.

Guide that inspired this poem: 

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