Outlets

Rising from night’s stifling cocoon
anxiously looking for an outlet of security
out of the confusion and chaos.

Clinging to any tree found
that has a sense of stability
even if its bark bites and wounds,
causing the hoped for security
to become so dire and painful.

But the mind never ceases its flutters
against the bleeding disappointment.
Those instinctive habits of the heart
consume with hunger for logic
seeking anywhere to land without chaos.

Dreams are the bandage
worn on scarred and torn wings.
Eyes ever gazing for a wind
that brings a chance to float
away from the resting places,
which burden with a hurt instead of calm.