Bird of Mine

Oh pure bird sitting beside me, what is it that you have that I do not. what is it that gives you wings but not me. I have sat here and watched same as you, day in and day out, attempting to fly away. I have sought no home here, yet I live here. I have built a house, yet I watch it burn down. what is it that gives you this freedom, That I so desire. what is it that gives you this, this time space energy. what is it that does not give me this as well, what mechanics at work play me, not as the fiddle, but as the middleman, working to my own end.