"The Gilded Strings"

She was a bird — wild, free, and bold, Wings kissed by dawn, dreams made of gold. She danced with winds, she sang with skies, No cage could hold her spirit’s rise. But hands reached out with silent art, Wove golden threads around her heart. Strings of gems, so bright, so fine, Yet each one dimmed her inner shine. They clipped her wings with silk disguise, And told her how and when to rise. No longer hers the song she knew, She flew as others told her to. She smiled, performed, a flawless feat, A puppet carved to be complete. She gave her all, played every part, Yet felt the hollow in her heart. And one cold dusk, with skies turned grey, Her soul, worn thin, just slipped away. No voice to sing, no dreams to cup— She had no soul to lift her up.