Birds out of cages
sing as you traverse the
serpent's winding night.
To the left,
to the right,
you carve your hand
on trunks in defiance.
You tread this path anew
with fading light,
finding your way with no sight.
Birds sing and sing until
you grow weary,
for that reason, you must keep
strolling. Legs hurting
is better than birds that won't sing.
You spot a silent bird,
darting in terror.
Does stopping mean violence?
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