Caged Birds, a poem (original)

There is a certain sense of curiosity,
Neither trivial nor dishonest
Between too much and not quite enough
That one may only relish in innocence
In a baby's breath
In naivete

The mind was once whole
Raging.insatiable, restless
Always asked questions
Between the cracks of a book's spine
Or technicolor images that bled beside each dwelling

But the mind is a fragile world
It can lose its elements in a whim
Through time it has grown small
And by virtue of a society that rejects opinion
The mind has become a caged bird
Fluttering against thick skull

Its wings disintegrating
In follicles and residuals of questions and unanswered prayers
Solitude, indignation, petulance and all
That once made a difference
Once fed it rich and curious
At one time or another

Its pieces in shards and splinters
Scaterred in places missing in maps
Now the bird lost its wanton thirst

For ideas that invoke
Reduced into apathy
Into indifference

But the bird can grow its feathers once more
Picking from the pieces
What's lost can always be found
And the mind can be whole again
To always ask questions
Raging, insatiable, restless