Pretty Bird
by anonymous
Cold, shining metal gleams in the light. When illuminated by the lamplight, the brass appears to glow and the beautiful creature it holds is regarded in awe. The spectators comment on how it’s perfect, and how, “Oh I wish I had one like that!” The soul-filled blurs smile at the perfect lie, failing to see that whether it is exposed to the light or hidden in the dark, the beautiful brass is still hard and cold. And it is still a cage. The bars before me stretch high to the canopy above, each as unchanging and hopeless as an untie-able knot. Oh, the misery in a shift of perspective. Not long ago, these unforgiving bars of metal had given me the feeling of being safe and cared for. They had once represented peace and rest, but now... now they are the guards of an innocent man’s prison, standing sentries for an unjust cause. 12
