Finches and Feelings

They're like yellow finches, frightened aflutter,

Freed from cages I'd not sight of to touch.

Circling 'round my head, through cognitive clutter,

chirping mad, immune to steering or clutch.

Watching thoughts, like birds that come unbidden,

Never hints at handling a puppet’s pose.

Rather, their own private motives are hidden,

the strings come from places nobody knows.

Missing voice or sway among those creators,

I inferred to be should be to effect.

Turned against the other, eyes, like traitors,

Watched the watching spies, and saw no subject.

Pursued, the ego caves in constant retreat

from egg to aether, echoing: tweet-tweet.