The cage too wanted to be loved.
He enjoyed the company
of men or bird alike—
to him,
they were never prisoners,
only companions
who, with indecision,
often stayed by his side.
He loved the merry talk of men,
the beautiful singing of birds.
And though in time he’d rust,
he never rushed
to open or close his doors.
He listened to stories and songs,
looked into the eyes of strangers and beasts
recounting far-off lands
and distant lovers.
He cared little for the twisted histories
and records men brought with them—
but he took them in all the same.
Inside, he was hollow,
a vast space of emptiness.
At times, a glutton,
if the warden willed it.
But choice was never his,
so he did not care—
as long as his loneliness
was satiated.
Yet it was his chains and bars
that all could see.
He never chose to be a sinner.
And of all things—
beside a crutch—
he was among the first
to be abandoned.
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