Why do you keep me here?
What are you trying to prove
To yourself…so stiff and stubborn…yes.
Isn’t it?
That only men can clip the wings off of birds.
It’s not the truth but you insist
on imitation
of all the other keepers that revolved the door before you
in our prison.
And I remember an ugly vision,
wretched words and rough limbs on olive trees.
No longer am I crushed beneath you,
But I still sometimes succumb to
the pale reverence of that which is beautiful.
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