I’d wish those heavy rocks

thrown through thin glass

into the empty hall 

of my confidence

to be feathers dancing by

I’d wish to see

that real love 

is not only a rush of blood 

But again and again

My fragile soul 

gets drawn away

through cumulus clouds 

I crave the rush

but I’m tired of the cold

How could this little bird find peace

if it’s never sure

where and what

it should sing for who