Tuesday, 29 June 2021

Winged

 If my wings were not tethered,

My freedom would not be this limited.
If my wings were not tethered,
I would be a winged marvel.
Ocean, desert, and jungle canopy
Would be no stranger to me.
If my wings were not this heavy,
I would be a stranger.
The bird that migrates every winter.
Never ceasing.

If my wings had not been clipped
By time.
De-beaked by the battery of my destiny.
De-clawed by the infinite risk I did not take.
If my wings were not clipped,

The wind would be my wisdom.
The sand would never scald my feet.
Divinity diminished.
Freedom averted.
Error demoted.
Potential abused.
Confidence aborted.
I would not roam where anyone has trodden.
I would not follow.
I would dissipate,
Disolve everywhere.

If my wings were not tethered,
I would be the kite
Taken up to the stars
And never returned.
If my wings were not sodden
By wet rains of solitude.
Sodden by regret not yet understood.
Clipped like the words left unspoken,
By the compass that points true lost.

If I had never grown wings
I would be forgotten.
Oblivious to the storm that threatens to whip me ahead in time.

If you could feel the flutter of these yet virgin wings
abandoned in the past
and never returned.
Can you be certain that one day
The vibrations
Will ring in your mind
And deliver you to the true path?

If my wings had not atrophied,
held down by assumptions,
pilfered by misery and abandoned in assent

I would be soaring above
And never return.

Return to me falcon God.
Winged avenger,
storm crier,
savage singer,
consoling prayer.

Allow the wingspan.

Just the rest of my existence.
Allow me to flee,
jump off that edge.
Take off into darkness,
and lose my rudder in the night.
I will be the albatross
no shadows will pursue.
No brilliant sun will illuminate,
and I will die.
But my wings will be stretched out wide.

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