I vault the sky — blue a trite fancy — the expanse, the clear color of longing The horizon gives way to empyreal heights and delicious air, my face to the eye of the sun Is it calling or indulgence to ride the wings of one’s own prayers? I could sleep in the wind. I…
I vault the sky — blue a trite fancy —
the expanse, the clear color of longing
The horizon gives way
to empyreal heights
and delicious air, my face
to the eye of the sun
Is it calling or indulgence to ride
the wings of one’s own prayers?
I could sleep in the wind.
I hold onto this incarnation of
dreams, but the sun revives me
from slumber on a pillow of dirt
and the sweet draught of
yesterday still in my throat,
I try not to disturb my broken wing.
Got to read a nice poem after a long time. Keep on writing please.
Thx. =)
You are welcome
Great imagery! Love how you describe the contrast between the dream of freedom symbolised here by words like “wind” , “expanse”, “horizon”, “delicious air”… and the sad reality. Powerful ending.
Thanks. Reality doesn’t always take us soaring into the happily ever after.
Yes, very true.
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