Birdsong

I wish I was a birdsong,
I’m so sick of being me.
I’d glide off greasy feathers,
Spiral upwards, ever free.
 
I wish I was the birdsong,
Not tied or caught or bound,
Let loose upon a wing tip
Never burdened by the ground.
 
I wish I could be birdsong,
Not trapped in skin and flesh,
Just an echo of a heartbeat,
A pinpoint, clear and fresh.
 
I wish I was a birdsong
Forged by sharp pink tongue
In flames of raw emotion
Fanned by tiny bellow lung.
 
If I could be a birdsong
I’d find a purpose in my chime,
So be clear of twisted logic
And the angry fists of time.
 
If I was the birdsong
There’d be no word to pain,
No harshness that could harm me,
As I was woven into rain.
 
When I become the birdsong
I’ll be relived from care
There’ll be no one left to judge me
As I vanish into air.