Wings down

And at rest

All alone

 

Questioning why,

Why was I left

Behind?

Why am I

The only one?

 

The pondering continues,

Focusing on the negative,

Barely glancing at the joys in possession:

Life, senses, beauty,

Freedom

 

Freedom...

Perhaps loneliness is good

For awhile.

Nothing compares to

Freedom,

To Candor,

Thinking for oneself,

Deaf from the judgment of others,

Content

 

So maybe the bird,

Filled with much more than realized,

Is lucky to be the one left behind,

For in this solitude

The bird has been found;

The bird has been found by himself.