Gilded cage

A somewhat different viewpoint of the trapped songbird.

You open the gilded cage,
but I cannot leave.
My wings are whole,
no chains at my feet.

You step away to watch,
but I cannot leave.
Would that I could,
for you do not see.

I have sung for you,
whether day or by night.
I sang for your smile,
that your soul may alight.

What am I to do then,
outside the cage of my making?
Sing out to no one,
only myself and my aching?

Who would understand
the verses I made only for you?
What good is a free songbird
when it is tamed, loved and true?

But if you command I go,
I shall, I will, and I must.
I will sing my own hymns,
though they cannot but taste of dust.