Accidental Snares Poem by Patti Masterman

I am not your jailer, though if closely questioned
You might admit to believing otherwise; moreover, you imprison yourself
Behind these walls, and while beating those wings against the windows
Must feel yourself to be the victim of confusing circumstance
If I were to try to chase you down, you would no doubt have a seizure
Of the heart, and die at that instant in my forsaken hands.
The door is tall, and widely open: but you cling to the tops of small windows
Envisioning through them the wider world, and a paradise
You faint for hunger, in full sight of trees and foraging
Ignoring the visible reality just beyond the door-
I can no more show you the error you make, than you can show me
How to fly. And so it goes; so long as man and nature have no common language
Except for the beauty that exists outside of mans finite ways
As long as birds and their children come by accident into human dwellings
For a brief, bitter stay-
All for want of a few shared words between us.