Reality

[Elizazile]

Hi there
I agree that the idea of "cages" does not exactly jive with 'wandering,' but I also see how maybe the cage is a metaphorical and internal one wherein a person cannot escape/exceed the mode of wandering passively and serenely. I can see, especially as I continue to read, how that is its own kind of cage. However I would still suggest trying to resolve the discrepancy in the imagery there, especially since it is what starts off the poem.

Also, since the point of your piece is to bemoan monotony and the repetitive nature of experiences it seemed fitting that the poem itself took on a rather repetitive and monotonous tone, but it still made it a bit hard to stay engaged at some points. There were a few moments, which I note, which I think re-iterated the message without giving new or helpful imagery and made the piece feel unnecessarily draggy. 
There were a few elements I marked that I really liked and hope you work with! I am also curious if, in a final draft, you want to explore what makes the speaker shift away from buying into old hopes and towards this new sense of hopelessness.

Hello, I'm rather new to poetry, and I'd like some feedback on this piece, thanks in advance.

Reality
 
Aren’t we all confined within our own cages,
Forced to wander through the ages.  
Strolling ever so serenely,
Through all the grass and crafted scenery?       -This is a place where your rhymes work for me and create        
Through the halls of time                       helpful imagery of passive people in a curated environment
We tumble and stumble, and yet not a single grumble, - This part feels a bit overdone to me 
Is heard within the chime
Of this ever-familiar rhyme we mumble.
 
I’m sick of this constant flow
No highs, no lows, just a simple Joe.   -think this makes it drag without giving a new take on the situation
This familiar tune we play,
Each and every single day.
Never ending. Serenading.
The same old streets we stroll through each day,
Same greetings, same faces, same goddamned Mondays.
 
I’m sick of being alive
If being alive is what this is
Where is the drive? The strive?
Being alive?
 
Yet perhaps it’s better this way,
Don’t rekindle this snuffed out flame.
Let someone else be the armored knight,
Riding into glory within the light.
 
Us commoners, what good do we know?
We’re just castaways, relics from an old yesterday.
Those hopes, visions, and dreams we once followed?
Ha! Who would have believed all that mumbo jumbo?
Maybe we’re all just miserable cargo
Doomed to ride this train indefinitely,
For all damned eternity.
 
Leave us be,
To wallow in our own sorrow
And hope not, for a better tomorrow.
 
And when morning comes, I’ll be back in my cage,  - I like that the speaker seems to have gotten in willingly
No fire, no light a rather pitiful sight.                         here, at first tired of being enclosed and now habituated 
You’ll hear the sound of dirty tears falling,                    to enclosing themselves with sorrow but without 
Flowing through these halls,                                      complaint
Echoing.