Nightingales - Poem by Maya Summers
The nightingale sings as the wind flies,
or the rain dries, as the cloud cries.
It's tones so neatly precise, as loud as thunderstorms but bright as the night.
Though the nightingale is alone, it sings with many,
Bearing the world on it's light wings
So why one can wonder, is the world so heavy?
That is all society's,
Anxiety and depression, what is the world? The nightingale cries out,
why is the world?
And why is a neat nightingale expected to carry the world, when the world brings itself down,
But why is it cold?
It freezes but the warm tones are still like breezes,
What is music and warmth in this world?
The world is now nothing but a swirl of anything and everything we all have lost. And the only thing we have left in the ending is our lives, that's been tossed.
The nightingale screams, as society's hands grabs ahold of the nightingale's wings.
It is caged.
Made of society's imperfections it is caged, because a nightingale ever so bright and beautiful,
is still not enough to satisfy the world's greatest demands.
Now the two hands come close once again, and she screams.
But noone can hear, the only thing humans can hear is small whispers of pain.
The nightingale is destroyed,
It's tone so neatly precise has been changed by society,
And why is society, and what?
But a cold hand silencing the voice of a nightingale's singing.
And now the nightingale is free.
It's tones are free to carry the world again, but she can't because who can?
When their eyes are closed and their lips are sealed.
We are all nightingales, with tied wings and lost voices, in a cage made of society's wishes, we are all prisoners.
Topic(s) of this poem: life
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