The Bird That Couldn't Fly

Upon a beam of old, dry oak,
A silent bird no longer spoke. 🐦
Her wings once kissed the morning sun,
Now folded back — no longer run. ☀️

A rope was wound around her chest,
Not made by hands — by thoughts suppressed. 🪢
Not hunters’ snare, nor net of thread,
But fears and doubts her mind had bred. 💭

She used to glide through dawn's first gleam,
Chasing light and chasing dream. ✨
She'd race the clouds, she'd laugh with rain,
But now she sings a song of pain. 🌧️

“Oh skies,” she chirps, “do you recall,
The days I dared, the times I’d fall?
But I would rise, oh how I’d fly,
With stars beneath and moon up high.” 🌙🌌

Her claws still gripped the weathered wood,
Her heart still beat — it understood. ❤️
Though rope may bind and days grow dim,
The will to soar still burned within. 🔥

Each feather held a tale untold,
Each tear a drop of courage bold. 😢🪶
The cage she wore, she made herself,
And hung it gently on a shelf. 🪟

A single breeze, so soft, so kind,
Whispered truth into her mind:
“You’re not too small, you’re not too late—
The skies still hold your open gate.” 🕊️✨

With trembling breath, she closed her eyes,
And dreamt of blue and endless skies. 💙
The rope, though tight, began to fray—
A sign her fears would fade away. 🧵

And when the sun began to rise,
She stretched her wings with no disguise. 🌄
One leap of faith, one final cry—
The bird at last began to fly. 🕊️💫


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