It is on days like these
that I am freer than a blue jay—
who soars ever so high;
to and fro, up and above,
and yet, always gliding back down
to rest its wings, as it nests
in the trees—
a home of loose twigs
and fell leaves.
It is on the nights that follow
that I may see my reflection
in the full of the moon,
whilst weaving my own reality
from this golden loom,
as it becomes my destiny.
It is on the mornings after
that I slowly crawl out of bed
and take flight yet again—
soaring through life
and all it has to offer,
until it nears the end.
As I remember a time,
long ago... where I would sit
upon my very own nest
to rest my wings
before I took flight once more—
to find my way
to the very end
of this golden loom.
Though now I am in a tangle,
as I twist and turn and fight.
It seems inevitable—
this lonely life.
For depression is a bird
with shattered wings...
a lonely blue jay.
But it is worth the fight—
to endure a life you so wish
to live, alongside friends
and family.
In reality,
there is no such regret;
aside from the fact
that I, too, wish
that I had truly become...