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?)