I looked at it close.
It was beautiful, dainty, delicate strong.
Why is it that what's best seems so wrong?
I broke off its wings
So it wouldn't fly
I removed it's beak
So it would fail at its own song.
I watched it shudder, sputter on the floor
And knew it wouldn't bother me more.
I tried hard not to cry
As it gyrated and quook
The way dreams do when they die.
What could I do? I had no choice.
It was impractical, improbable.
There was no other recourse.
It couldn't feed me or pay the bills
I needed a way for my coffers to fill.
Even in its sad, broken state
It still glimmered and gleamed
Oh, what a waste!
I turned my back, I walked away.
But sometimes I wonder
If my broken dream still waits.