My wings, hand-crafted,
perch stapled to my shoulders.
The sky gazes endless – and I gaze back;
through the shredded curtain of snow,
curling over me like a blanket.
In frozen uniqueness
the snowflakes dance joyously,
spiraling downward.
From tops of both trees and buildings,
whose masters' hands grow on separate vines,
I watch the snow melt;
then, snatched back up into clouds.
My body and soul are airborne,
yearning to rest in the comfort of ground,
which lies shielded by snow
like clustered masses of fear – frozen
till it floats away in clouds forever.
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Comments
And why aren't you on AIM these days? Computer problems?
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"O lost, and by the wind grieved, ghost, come back again."
-Thomas Wolfe, Look Homeward, Angel
I'll start getting on aim/visiting the forums when I have some more time freed up.
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