But it will sing

Hope is a thing with feathers-

And I never knew what for.

A heart is a thing with tethers-

That I never controlled before.

Just fancy words on a single screen-

I read my favorite 'songs.'

Fancy words with a single mean-

I could express my wrongs.

I love being adorned with feathers,

and the world perishing in ice,

But I felt like I was in tatters,

Like my words were no advice.

When you get caught in this web of lies,

a cave of depression and fear, 

my words are the only thing that flies-

from heart, to soul, to here.

So if you can hear these words calling,

I finally broke free of the chains,

At least-my illusion is falling,

And my poet heart remains.

It may not make a thousand nations ring-

But it will sing.

My heart will sing.