Let them be as chickens,
always regal, majestic, superior, admired
but grounded by the wire cage that surrounds them.
I’d rather be bound to the night,
gliding through the cool air, like an owl,
flying silently, viewing the world below through
beady yellow eyes.
To live freely in the slashing wind,
to feel overcome by the beauty of
the tree tops and the starry night sky.
To be tossed around by the rough salty
wind that rises from the sea,
my soul gliding above everything,
filling up with the joy of having the
entire world at my fingertips.
I’d rather be chained to the night,
to live under the skirts of the moon,
than to be an egg laying machine,
living in flocks and ranging on beautiful green hillsides
in the light of day, where they’re adored,
admired, but then caged
by demanding, human hands.
I’d rather spit out pellets of rodent bones
than eat dried vegetables from a firm metal dish.
If I could exist away from all that lives during the day,
courageous and free, I’d rather be a bound to the night.
