I see the wings of birds slice the air
they glide so gracefully, knowing no end.
Free to go from place to place
to see a new country, a new body of water,
to see a new face.
If I had wings, I would fly until I tired:
away and away like a bullet that’s been fired.
Instead, I sit, encased by concrete and steel,
Knowing these thoughts can only be dreams,
never real.
