how true, you’ve been lonely
so like a bluebird from my window
you came, to beg for my eyes
you flew, for me to see your color
above this city, beneath the bluest skies Â
yet, like a bluebird from my window
you should be free
I’m not the cure to your pain, I’ll never be
for to dream of the zenith, is all I do
I see nothing but zenith, how real, how true
A poem for a commissioned piece