United States

The flow of pen to paper is now the flow of finger to keyboard.

A sacrilege of tradition, yet preserved and unbroken.

Times have changed, but I still feel the same.

Blind to my own dawn, and awake for my sunset,

Still I wonder what I have to do to get

all of it back.

My mind is caged, but who is the gatekeeper?

My identity lost through the trials of the reaper.

The scale of order and justice tipped with one head,

and not a single drop of blood was bled.

Yet I am unchanging and unbroken, and the life in front of me seems to have awoken.

I am becoming the engineer I dreamed of.

I am becoming the writer I strived to be.

But it only serves to weaken my philosophy.

To be preserved and unbroken,

to succeed and be golden.

I am becoming more bitter by the day,

watching the fruits of my labor crumble away.

The sanity of my family fading as well,

as the scales of order tip closer to hell.

I am unchanging, unbroken, and golden.

I am the dark where the light is molded.

Where there is order, there can be no justice,

I am accepting of this newfound auspice.

I will find the key, and unlock my mind,

to escape the fate that has beholden me,

I will fight to escape this dark atrocity.

I am an avian caged by the scale of order,




and golden,

for I am the caged bird that sings.

This poem is about: 
My community


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