Flight

I thought I was 'free' but I am not, 

deceived into thinking I am unbound,

living a free life and calling the shots,

confined within this free world I thought I found.

But I am foolishly and unknowingly living an order,

a slave to my disguised freedom,

or living a freedom within this slavery?

Unsure, I set limits to contain this liberation.

I am a slave to my routine and compulsions,

a designed balance to contain this chaos,

my ideals intact with a pinch of independence,

to repress the leeway my life has become.

So this is the order with an obscure narrative,

I was free, but then came in the rules,

forming a pattern mingled with my disposition,

ignorant to an evolving habit I couldn't elude.

Now, I watch the birds fly south,

realizing how similar we are in our everyday life,

free, yet chained to these instincts and needs,

living an idea of freedom within a defined premise.

I would chase them and plead them to take me along,

to teach me how to fly and 'prey' in the wild,

to breakaway from the monotony of my fabricated world,

to be a boundless maverick with a limitless flight.