Wind whispers to me,
Telling me all I should see,
The sky, the trees, the beautiful sun,
Streaming down the barrel of my gun.
“Life,” it says “life is out there.”
But I am trapped, my soul laid bare.
“Pick me up!” I scream and choke,
It says “I’ve heard this from other folk,”
“My dear you have wings of your own
And from this prison you could have flown.”
I frantically search but no wings I see,
Maybe I was never meant to be free.
Then it hits me, wind streaming in,
My own strength is where my freedom begins.