It's just a cage,
I remind myself,
a play of metal and gothic
baubles, swinging fancifully
from a wrought iron branch
in a thespian's paradise.
Just a cage...
a figment of someone's fantasy,
brought to life by a welder's torch,
artfully antiqued,
and ready for whatever plaything
might be willing to sit.
Yet, I cannot deny
the heart's flutter at its sight,
memory whispers on the breeze
of a Fate that was so nearly mine,
entombed, entwined
in bronze tresses spun too tight.
So long ago, yet it stands so near,
my shadowed self,
the one that when pushed too far,
died only to be resurrected,
a watery phoenix.
Just a cage...
but a coffin of what could have been.
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