“You seek rebellion,”
the lady says to me
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.