From the steeples and gables and pillars of finely crafted buildings I perch, with a repulsive look of disgust and anger on my face. Although I may be content or particularly happy that day, I am cast into stone and plaster, I cannot smile. It is the simple things that are taken for granted that I so long for. My hardened wings, they cannot enable me to fly. My open eyes cannot grant me vision. I perch and collect whatever the cool breeze deposits upon me. Yet the breeze is free to float and travel, to dance and to linger, to converge into whirlwinds and mingle with the world, and to pick up the leaves and throw them into the air like a child. I am but an entity contained inside a piece of art, forever still, forever looking angry, forever depressed. You humans have the means to feel the world and to interact as you please, and still you complain.

I want to fall off of this pillar that holds me high. I want to soar through the air and to fly if just for a minute before I shatter to pieces on the ground. You people have methods of transportation throughout the land, sea, air and space, I have but a single resting place. I will no longer let you have the bliss of your ignorance! You have everything in this entire existence that I have ever wanted, that I have ever dreamed of, that I have so long awaited and never obtained, and yet you still complain. And yet you still complain. 1