Caged Bird

It's ironic how trapped the caged bird feels, longing to be free. It only singing because its crying for the freedom that it's very make-up equipped it for, to roam free. Ironic, how the paper lining the cage, tells the story of the world it longs to see. Bird's eye view.

Highway (Part I)

On the highway to heaven,
Do you to stop and grab a fourty
From the seven-eleven
Swerving lane to lane
Doing a buck and some change
Still the pit stops turn into the pits
Bobbing your head to the latest hits
Twisted.
Pulled off, onto the beaten path
Road a while
Tried to get back on track, off this exit
But missed it.
Wall-to-wall traffic met me, more to see.
But I was stuck off the exit, where I know I shouldn’t be.
Partied hard and late,
Epiphany, I woke early and snuck back.
I road clear path, things fell into place.
I tried to keep my eyes on the highway,
Dozed, and needed to stop.
Or so I thought, it was my way.
Lord told me, “Son, My way is the Highway”
I shrugged and got back off.
I needed a break, fought that urge.
I’d go harder then ever, splurge.
Get it out of my system.
Plus I wanted to get back to those I left
I missed them.
Secretly missing me too, hoping I'd come back
More company justifies the acts.