we are but birds



There are several ways to kill a cat, half of which are still under experiment. There are equally just as many ways to skin a rat, but very few people can come up with ways to keep a rat or cat alive. I am taking a weird tangent I can barely think of a way or a thought that’s pure. I am alive. I possess a chance to make things right. That is a start. To what, I don’t exactly know. We are but birds flying distinct paths, we are vessels made of brittle porcelain. We are half brittle half strong. We must be constantly baked to realize our full potential. Alas! Who are we, always on the move constantly searching for answers that we may know what we don’t. Persistent until we find out, yet when we find out we are unsatisfied. We are troubled by our own minds, slaves to our actual selves and fugitives of the truth, whom shall we trust if we can’t trust ourselves? Whom shall we believe if we can’t believe ourselves?
We are born pure; every holy book believes we are born without sin, without blemish. Along the way the clean slate we are given at birth is dirtied by the involvement with other people as we live. Our purity is diluted slowly by the tiny evil deeds we pick up along the way. With age comes the ability to choose between evil and good. Our conscience clouded or not plays a part in the decisions we make. Some are good and we enjoy and revel in them but others are poor and from them we gain experience after learning our painful lessons. We learn or we enjoy. For everything we do in this life there are consequences. We are told we will be punished for every foolish word we say, we will be reprimanded for all our unlawful deeds. Sometimes we desire our slates were clean, and instead of doing it the hard way of cleaning and clearing it all up we flee. We are but birds.
Fathering children at every corner we pop into skipping off to the next. I do not claim to be better or any different but I do desire to be different, to be someone else not this. Not a bird that perches on every tree, a bird that flees in times of disaster. If I have to be a bird then may at least be an eagle to perch up the highest cliff, to make a life not to the nearest branch to host noisy chirps. Or we could be fish, then there will be many, many of us.

3 comments:

  1. Hello from France
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  2. Excelente post amiga, muchas gracias por compartirlo, da gusto visitar tu Blog.
    Te invito al mio, seguro que te gustarĂ¡:
    http://el-cine-que-viene.blogspot.com/

    Un gran saludo, Oz.

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  3. this piece takes me back home, inside my mind where i hide my skeletons,my victories, my joys, my concerns,my naked truth. it is inspiring...and i love the end.kudos.M.

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