The Cage Poem by Frank Bana

On the cusp of reformation
By the brink of understanding
Near the edges of the dawn
Through the doors of transforming

the reality that holds us
in our cages of identity
with a chance of confronting
the ones that we were meant to be

By the tip of the wing
That would carry us to recognize
Unities of which we sing
But ignore before our eyes

while extending our hope
to the surface of a fingertip
with one moment left to touch
or forever let it slip

Through the void of our lives
Mired in passivity
Too discouraged yet to rise
Even though only an inch away

Too pliant and too meek
Forgiving feels too fine -
The design, the tools, the hand
That build the cage, are mine?