Dream Of Flight

There are many, too many ways,
To contain a man. 
You feed him love, make him cling to it. 
Then you can make him stay. 
You might heap onto him,
The drudgery of life. 
And he would be drowned forever. 
You can take away from boys,
And when as young men, 
They snatch from others,
You put them in cages. 
Or you might let them rise up,
From the filth around them. 
Let them believe,
that being the best in your lot,
Is enough. 
Then you chain them in cushion jobs,
And toss them fat salaries. 
And since you've been at it for centuries,
You simply convince them.
That running ahead, staying in front,
And winning at make-believe games,
Is what it's all about. 
You mould them, their parents, and their parents; in the cast of society. 
Then paint over them with religion and community. 
And beyond a point, 
You create enough dead dolls,
That being alive starts seeming crazy.

But if I really, really see through your charade,
How would you fool me? 
If I really start to will it,
How will you stop me from flying? 
And if I have once tasted it,
How would you make me,
Settle for plain walking? 
I still might humour you,
And play your games a little.
But there would be a day when,
There wouldn't be your civilisation,
Or your pinnacles of progress. 
No people, no ladders, no races. 
There would be trees, lined against the side of my palm.
A river, snaking around as a thread. 
On that day, there wouldn't be any kind of you. 
Just an edge, a gorgeous valley,
and a vast, gaping, bottomless beyond.

That is the day,
When I would fly.

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