I wrote this a few days ago. It's nothing much and it's only decent in terms of how poetic merit. There's a lot of personal symbolism in this one, and I worry that it may weaken the effect overall. In any case, enjoy.

~~~

Twelve lights above, but you're the broken one below
Among the oils that stain your water colored life,
Brushed and erased until all your color faded away,
Swept to the forgotten ground and poured down the drain.

You're up on the platform, first to be sold
To all those day old faces staring from below.
You took to the road two years too late.
Etched with fear, you wait to see the animals
That purchase you with glee

When the closet and drawers hold clothes from ages past
That's when you know you've made it back home
Back to the town where you first learned to talk
And you don't know how and you don't know when,
But you've grown up and outgrown this town that you grew up in
So the days pass living from your broken suitcase
You're ready to leave at the beck of a whim
To take to the road, and find the place to rest your hands

They take you to the broken land where you stay
In a box at the zoo with another that they hold
But you're still free, bound by leash and noose
In a smaller pond than you ever knew

But still you will leave without a coat in your icy hand
Because the frozen rain is where you are most at home.
Hunger never takes your body, despite your diet of air.
But you'll never hear the rhythm that the music plays for you

You are the child of the snow, for whom spring will never come
For ever your eyes are in the heart of February and
Even while the seeds are sown you'll see they cannot grow