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I am the bird
with broken wings
perched high upon the tree.

I can only look
at the wonders of the sky,
wishing I was free.

Such majesty and grandeur.
None of which
I may partake.

I weep tears of sorrow
and sing melancholic songs
of tragedy and heartbreak.

My life, it seems,
was laid to waste.
The disgrace.

For what?
I was not told.
But the punishment, I must face.

How cruel
and unusual
this… penance.

Without provisions of solace,
I must make do
with sheer resilience.

Lucky, is the bird
in the gilded cage.
Where exists the slightest hope.

Hope of a day when she
might take flight.
With this dream, she must cope.

But what of me?
With broken wings,
I cannot fly.

I lack the means
to aviate.
Perhaps I should try?

And should my
physical being fail
to soar,

then my soul at least will be free.
I believe this, down
to my very core.

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