Looking Out

Trapped in a cage, a cold hard cage, I stare at the wall, the door, blasted monotonous white wall, tantalizing transparent door. Both shred my mind, call me away. I don't hear the words, I am too busy dreaming of birds. They see all things. Why would I want to stay and hear these woeful words of the world, when there is earth outside, sweet dirty earth, where worms crawl and bugs scrape their way to trees. Enticing with a bright sun and purple flowers, this report of stately affairs and foes holds nothing to the real. Real grass that tickles a cats paws and sticks in their throat as they chew it for fun, for it certainly isn't to sharpen their teeth. No for that, they eat bones and food. The fires burn only in the UV rays. Then the squeak, as the wind grasps the handle, calling me to come out and play with deer and dogs that bark as they walk by, still wet from yesterday's rain. I can smell them from here. Still, I sit, bored in my misery.