Truth be told, happiness is a bird.
Lucky souls have no need for a cage.
Daily they soak in each soft note of the morning chorus,
Liquid harmonies float through windows open, ajar or porous,
Songs fade gently, somnolent.
The sun slowly sets.

Truth be known,  I snatched a bird!
Envious! Enraged, at the worlds free show.
You see trees to me were barren and lifeless.
But guilt overcame this mean, deaf keeper.
It has not sang once yet.
I shall have to let it go.

Her stagnant memory hung limp, useless.
The truth is though despoiled, the alter stood.
Iconoclastic fire and cleansing flood,
Could not dent her myth, proved bloody, fruitless.

A slave! Once transfixed by her finesse,
Broke sylphlike chains yet did not understand,
That freedom weighs leaden on well versed hands!
More servile once loose and beyond redress.

So, did our boy escape from his bondage?
Well he prayed to new gods and got plastered.
But the cruel odds seemed insurmountable.
Until, with great strain he saw through her fey image,
To darker and more appealing masters.
Now he's weightless, the moral? All faith is doubtable!

Happiness, tantilisingly tangible, now gone.
For indecision in a smiles infancy,
I know that I partly am wrong.
As this small crime swings back to me.

With such force though, and hate!
Stabbed by a silvery, venomous tongue!
The seeds of contentment yet to germinate,
Float away.
Unwritten words to a summery song.