Love Song of an Old Buzzard

It’s not that you keep me well hidden,
or, things that I do are forbidden,
its each time you label me, I shrink,
like a thought once it’s written down in ink.
Why limit my life’s possibility,
telling me now just how I ought to be?
I yearn the full spectrum of chance;
bright rainbows around which to dance.
Each time you tag me you darken my day.
I lose my pink and my green fades away.
When multiples switch to divisible
only light can make colours visible.
My one piece of proof that the sun still shines
are little brown freckles that float through my mind.
Like the love song of an old buzzard
you sing to the sunset of time.

It's not that I scorn the cave sleeper;
and I fall down hard but I’m no cliff leaper.
It’s each time you shade me with doubt
I feel cold exclusion; I’m all blackened out.
Why limit the heat of my flame
when I’m trying to make this burning my aim?
I’d carry my candles up to your alter;
I’d burn for you and I’d never falter
but each time you blow out my day,
everything white turns to everything grey.
I could move mountains or sit stare at stones
but I won’t live here in shadows alone.
My one piece of proof that the sun still shines
are little brown freckles that float through my mind.
Like the love song of an old buzzard
you sing to the sunset of time.