what of this laden head

what of this laden head
that lies pressed against the glass
screaming mind, howling against
the chains, the bonds
that hold it in place
what of this peace
that it fumbles to grasp
and lay hold to, so elusive
only the minnows flashing
in perfect harmony
in late afternoon sun
can truly know its essence
or the sparrow’s seamless flight
each feather constant with the next
yet here i sit revolting against
what i claim i cannot know
and yet i am here, here i am



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