Warm chains

A little bird flew to my nest hungry and frail,

Tears behind bars of eyelids and words in mouth's jail.

I fed it only to set it free but be bound myself,

With chains whose warmth had now run cold.

Intentions pure in a world of calculating brains,

Those soaring in the skies made to settle for grains.

Depth of beating poetry gone unheard amongst deaf herds,

Desire for bonds broken by momentary pleasure.

When the warmth turned into scorching waves,

The memories forgotten but an undying part it saves.

All must leave, it is naive to bound oneself,

Easier said then done, all say, all suffer.

The waves bring nothing when they come to the shore,

It goes spoiling all and taking more.

But from that sand moved, shells shining reveal,

Oh how the world makes us wait, how it plays with these dolls.

The seeds sown by me, now these unharming hands gripped by its vines,

Nothing left to say for i molded screams into poetic lines...

The mind and empty dinner table where the devil dines,

Too lost in the eyes, i failed to see hellish signs.