Dear bird cage,
I saw you tipped over among the rumble.
I hardly noticed you.

The chaos of your lines of structure made you camouflage into the scrap.
You are white wire spotted with rust; the secret to your age.
I pulled you from the rubbish and set you upright.
Your form was so beautiful and simple.
I recognized your value instantly.
You are symbolism.
You are freedom and you are bondage.
When you embrace your winged cargo, you are full of life.
You have purpose when you are bondage.
However, when you are freedom, you are empty and bare.
Oh, dear bird cage, how do you choose what to be?
You are the exception to the definitions.
Birdcage, you are the hesitation to my freedom.
