Turtle Doves

I say poem but it's just my collective thoughts.

Whoever said thoughts are an exact science with a strict pattern was a liar.

 

            Once again it came. The thought of a cage. Staring out of windows often brought that to mind. And there they were, the little turtledoves huddled into their feathers, trying to block the steely April’s day. They had nothing and wanted for nothing. They ate when they were hungry and slept when they were tired. We had all our technologies around us, and they had the freedom. I came to pondering cages. I came to a conclusion, one no doubt reached by countless others, decades before my time. Cages did not have to come in the explicit form of a mad tyrant. Often cages took the implicit disguise of pleasure. A loved one holds chains around us that bind tighter than any wrought iron could. I stood up and solemnly walked over and opened the door. Immediately the cold breath stung my face but I did not close the door. I watched the turtledoves, looking into my mind with their black marble eyes. “Will you come out?” they seemed to ask. The wind whistled by. “It’s harsh and unforgiving out there, and feel how warm it is in here,” the wind said. “You shall have nothing but a clear head and a free heart.” I paused and stood on tiptoe, breathing in the crisp, clean atmosphere. Then I closed the door and walked away