I am still young, my story hardly begun, as I weave among the forest of legs.
And these soft trunks, they obscure the beasts whose voices lure, assure me of great wonder ahead.
A light begins to shine behind, my confines, and my heart excites,
So with haste, I race to the front where the forest is replaced with a jungle that shakes,
And its branches and vines are entwined in designs that climb in my eager mind.
Sounds erupt in the air, from the creatures who spare no room for silence and I dare not deny their song.
I roar with them.
Soar with them.
And yet I am torn from them as the forest swarms again;
And I can feel their scorn borne of experience
And inflicted on those who contradicted what was predicted in day dreams.
But these dreams are like me, and unlike the bereaved, they can see and believe in colours that breathe.
And yet these dreams dream to leave unaware of how they with grieve the fleeting sheen through which they now see
For I yearn to return to the time without concern and a curiosity that still burned for the wild;
When I could still see the jungle,
How with life it quivered. Shivered. Delivered its identity.
How I would reach to breach the glass and wish to remain there for my life to pass
I remember the zoo…
Do you?
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