I promised I will let one darling go,
I'll open the cage and shoo it out,
let it live all by itself
in the wild,
where scheming hunters (not unlike
yourself)
may pick at it, and when you're done
I'll be pleased to hear your thoughts;
they're treasures too, you know?

It's not as if there's much
contained in this, afterall,
most poems cannot be profound;
we've grown numb to such things,
God is not God,
but what we paint in churches,
and beauty,
the ugliness of industry, is
now in vogue.

But what I'll let you know is
this, the people have all walked
away, not realising that each
wasting day, I fade into the
thinness of the air, get lost
when they forget me too. I stand
alone where the moon's light
shines the least,
a bit in the shadows mainly
to keep off frights, but mostly
out of sight,
because it's fun to write and
let it speak to me, good one.

I'm willing to die, to burn,
feed my ashes to the clouds,
and maybe fall as rain.