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Mulberries
I think I wish I were a bird.
 If I was a bird, I wouldn’t
 Choose to fly. It seems much 
 Too obvious. Anticipated.
 
 I’d simply sit there
 Under the Mulberry tree and savor
 The knowledge that I could fly
 If I so wished.
 
 Except that I would not wish,
 And therefore I would not fly.
 
 In the light of gold and blue
 I’d hear the language of the Old,
 And the songs of an Eternity.
 
 Stretching my wings
 To remind myself of their presence.
 
 I wonder what it would be like
 To sit wallowing 
 in a pool of my own potential.
 Knowing all the extraordinary things
 I could do, yet spiting the Universe
 As I sat, not doing any of them.
 
 Yes, I wish I were a bird.

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Is that really how you feel or did you just think up the idea for the sake of the poem?
 
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