Hung from the ceiling,
in cages locked, with keys, thrown away,
sat dreams, of all those on the ground.
Staring up, so very longingly,
hoping, with fingers, tightly crossed,
that the wind would blow so hard,
as to drop the cages, with the thrown away keys,
and shatter the golden, silver lines of metal,
freeing what seemed, but emptiness,
but held ideas, plans, wishes, and dreams.
Tired eyes trained upward,
at cages, locked with keys, thrown away,
all those on the ground could see,
clearly, so very distinctly,
all those people, beside the cages,
ruling members of society.
And those on the ground, passionately hoped,
that the people above would borrow a heart,
warmer, or maybe an open mind,
so as to free the non-conformist dreams.
