Makers Hands, Part 1/3

"Blackbird singing in the dead of night," my inspiration

I'm trying to fly

I'm trying to sing

Trying to live

Trying to be

But my wings are broken

My voice is all gone

This life seeped out of me

Stolen by the maker

I tried to be good

I tried to be enough

I will move on and things will be alright

I've flown and soared

I've  hummed a tune

I lived my life

I've been what I wanted

This gift was given to me

By the maker things where done

They have fixed my wings, so they where fine

Taught me a tune they sang all the time

They have brightened the world

Fixed the mistakes in my eyes

They have made things as they are,

They have made things as they should be

This time my wings are gone

The feather plucked, I can not fly

My voice was trapped inside a box

I can not find

My life is small and I am weak

Things I thought for sure have changed

The color has faded this cold never sleeps

I was once held in the hands of one

The arms of another

Broken past repair, until they grabbed me from the shelf

Now they have thrown me down

I must take what I have and I must

wait, to be free

I must be strong when it is hard

I must be here when things are bad

I must learn to fly, to sing, to live, to be

Without the maker, taking what has been given

And using what I know

I will soar into the dark black night