9-5
There are weights at the end of my limbs,
tired of chasing voices in the wind,
looking for what has left
Once as promising as stars in the sky,
now merely wishes gone bye.
In truth,
I am looking for the balance of a feather in flight,
free from captivity of that 9-5 few hours of sleep, grind
I am looking for that freedom
that remains in chains; maimed and chained.
I am looking for that freedom that the caged bird sings:
to sing and ring; to dazzle among broken things,
because sometimes what’s left isn’t measurable