Like the Movie, The Matrix

I have been such a follower
In my life
If shown a picture book, of birds, hidden
In a leafy tree-top,
I obediently, as a child,
Searched for the birds
Till I had the full count,
And then, sat there, dully,
Still looking,
Not knowing, what,

It didn't occur to me to
Hurl the book away;
I can draw better birds myself,
Better leaves.
Yes, you hid them well in
Your lines,
But this will not bring a bird to my hand
Nor help me see beyond appearances,
As I watch liars all day
On TV.

I'm going to have to think up
A new way to spend my time
Here, on the planet.
All the old 'new ideas' seem used up.
I'm afraid I'm going to have to
Come up with my own
Never before thought of
And then, I'll run it up the
And when nobody

When my Find the Birds book has been
Hurled away,
(Because I found them all)
I'll be alone.

And only the bird
Now coming to my finger.....
The birdsong, now speaking my language,
Will be left

As companions.

Is it worth the trade?

Am I "Neo"
Ready for fierce-some battle?

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allets's picture

Bird On My Finger

I search for the old new idea too and end up doing the habitual, the comfortable. The by myself write, gardening, gift wrapping. Thinking about guitar playing. Still gotta few old new songs in my head, I think. Thought filled write - nice penning - Lady A