Being directionless, finding my life spiraling down a well-trodden path feels sickeningly slow.
A wieldy net harpoons my fast beating wings.
Occasional loosening of the fine ropes tantalises inner spirit.
Yet the quickening race of my heart,
the rapid flurry of feathers
the bright glare of widening pupils
are all in vain.

There is no escape.

The burning grip of reality shears at my face, deep through the skin
I find myself pinned down by some grappling hand of fate.

There is however, the lingering hope.
A secret imagining a captured glimmer of escape.
Yet not beyond the net, the cage
but within it
within me.