Parrots of the legion

 


Parrots of the legion
Chiming in chorus

Feathers ablaze with borrowed voices,
Echoing orders, not their choices.
In perfect unison, they squawk and sing,
Yet never question a single thing.

Perched on banners, bright and proud,
Mimicry masked as thoughts aloud.
Legion’s echoes, bold and brash—
A thousand tongues, a single lash.

Cute as they are, with colors so bright,
Dancing in sunbeams, a vivid delight.
Yet beneath the charm, the echoes stay,
Repeating words in a practiced way.
Do they dream of songs their own?
Of whispers shaped from thoughts unknown?
Or is their fate to call, repeat,
A chorus bound, yet bittersweet?

Whither the spark—I know it exists,
Lost in the din of rehearsed insists.
Buried beneath the borrowed tune,
Drowned by the echoes of sun and moon.
Is there a voice that is truly free,
Beyond the script of the mimicking spree?
Or does the ember, faint but true,
Wait for the hush to burn anew?

Of the voices that differ, unique they think,
Yet drawn to the well where the echoes drink.
Draped in colors not their own,
Still they perch where the winds are blown.
Is it defiance, or just a new rhyme,
Spun from the threads of an old paradigm?
To break the chorus, to truly be—
One must sing, not just disagree.

Said one group to the other,
"You are the herd."
"For we are the nerd,
Sharper of mind, freer of word."

Yet left and right, they march in stride,
Mocking the echoes, yet bound inside.
Turning in circles, each claims the way,
Both sure the other has gone astray.

But not just forward, nor back alone,
Not left, not right—new paths are sown.
Our flock is bright, with colors true,
Not one but many, in varied hue.
Let voices chirp, distinct yet kind,
In tune with thought, yet free of bind.
Together we soar, no cage, no wall,
Forging new heights, a song for all.


- Psitaccon

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