Alouette.

Trapped in figurative cage, I have no escape. Morosely staring at the heavens, they beckon to me. Calling me back up to where I belong. Back to the stars. The dreams that I dream are only wishes, forcing reality into a cage of its own.

But why live life from dream to dream, and dread the day when dreaming ends?

Clipped wings make melancholy days.
"Why are you so sad?" they question. Like broken clocks. Stuck on the same hour, telling nothing but that.
"Wouldn't you?" I reply. "I don't belong."

I remember mother that day. Her crying woke me from my dreams. She told me father was sleeping in a place far, far away. That he'll be watching us from far, far away.

I never saw him again.

Pruned wings make indignant days.
Lust turns to disgust. A heart of gold into dust.
It gets old. It goes away.
At first you're excited, then you're less than delighted. By the end of each day, you want to drop dead.

I try to make the best of what I have.

Shattered hopes make hopeless days.

Her eyes were burning holes through me.
She said, "If I fall asleep and never wake up, promise me you won't try to wake me."
I can't handle waiting. Anticipating. So I pray that she wakes.

The lights have begun to burn down.
I lie down beside her, and in this gloom, we become one.
I cannot take it.

Oh darling, leave me be.
What will we make of this?

She never wakes up.

I'm shaking like a child. Sobbing.
You try to break this spell that's wrapped around me.
Every attempt misses. You never wake up.

Oh darling, leave me be.

There is a solemn silence in the air. Void of all pain. All suffering.

I tumble to the ground. Gasping for breath, my vision begins to swim. The ground beneath me seems to shift.

I awake with a start. Staring dumbstruck ahead of me, I begin to cry.

One day, I'll fly away.