so proud of its feathered coat
and desperately protective
of its freedom to fly,
that it will not land
but stays aloft, exhausted,
proudly flailing its wings until
fatigue sets in its veins
like concrete.
freedom will not sound
from a desperate, forceful breathe,
but only from the knowledge
that you don't have to sing at all.
a bird is then not
free because it flies above
the trees, but because it makes the
conscious choice
whether to fly or land.
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