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New York, 10:36 PM
Thu Dec 10
60 posts in the last 24 hours
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Original material is licensed under a Creative Commons License permitting non-commercial sharing with attribution.
09/08/09
I know why the caged bird beats his wing
till its blood is red on the cruel bars,
Because they have feathers on!
for he must fly back to his perch and cling
when he fain would be on the bow aswing.
And they’re black!
And the blood still throbs in the old, old scars
and they pulse again with a keener sting.
I know why he beats his wing.
. . . . .
I know why the caged bird sings.
. . . . .
It’s not a carol of joy or glee,
but a prayer that it sends from its heart's deep core,
a plea that upward to heaven it flings.
Postscript
And it’s not a cry that you hear at night;
it’s not somebody who’s seen the light;
it’s a cold, and it’s a broken hallelujah.