The Birds
The birds are flying away from the nest
And the leaves are falling off the tree
They are like me
They are separating their selves from what they are told to believe.
That old wooden cross is now just two pieces of wood
When once it is where I proudly stood
But now I stand, unsteady
On natures evolving hand.
And I don’t feel as free,
But I do feel more alive
And I’m no better than a tree
We’re both just trying to survive.
-cc ollins
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