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Michael McGuire
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Broken Bird
You don't have to have wings to want to learn to fly,
You don't have to doubt the truth to believe in a lie,
He was his own creation in his view from the treetops,
He could see way down Paragon Mills past where the farmland stops,
Early morning June, The world was a mystic presence,
The cool bark of the tree against his skin; he studied nature's lessons,
Till one day practicing flight the fated fall occurred,
And he woke up on the ground feeling like a broken bird.
Since that day he has suffered from fear of flying, And he has been a hard-sell on what the rest of the world was buying,
The world seem to lose its meaning in expressing its brutal truth,
He had a head full of wonders and sorrows and a heart full of age and youth,
And there were ruffled feathers in the nest because he never needed validation,
There was a dictionary for by the book communication,
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But he was a different sort of flesh in need of an undefinable word,
In hope that the broken sky was in need of a broken bird.
Radio like the voice of some god kept the world in tune,
Ages spent in the rhythm of his room,
He got so good at losing himself he had no need to hide,
He felt like the truth needed an excuse so he just lied.
Was there some kind of vengeance or just an unhealthy curiosity,
Sometimes his meekness filled him with an impotent ferocity,
Tears fell hot; and the sobs nobody ever heard, BB gun in his hands; crying over a broken bird.
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