Of Wings

Winged things
are meant to fly,
like birds, and planes,
and dragonflies…
angels…

I had dreams once –
winged creatures
who soared
limitless skies…
free…

Until fear –
a cruel master –
caged my heart,
clipped my spirit…
broken…

Age and loss
turned the page,
locks illusions
unravelled…
escape…

Vulnerable,
I walk, remember
wings, lift my face
to inclement  weather…
fly…

(Written in response to Willow Poetry’s weekly challenge:  What do you See?)

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VJ

Permission to write, paint, and imagine are the gifts I gave myself when chronic illness hit - a fair exchange: being for doing. Relevance is an attitude. Humour essential.

24 thoughts on “Of Wings”

  1. your poetry has a progression, from youth to maturity, from fear to vulnerability, each phase having its own insecurities. beautiful “wordsmithing” here!

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  2. This really resonates with me, V.J. My wings have been clipped also, but I try to soar whenever the opportunity presents itself. Maybe not physically, but in my imagination and joy of photography. 🙂

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