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You may know him.
by Aaron BlairAs children, we all write letters to the sky,
our spines aching in the places where wings won't grow.
As adults, we plummet, molting feathers and dripping wax,
racing toward a ground that softens enough to cushion our fall,
while reminding us, always, how it has cautioned us against hope.
We long to break free from the chains that bind us,
always failing to realize that the love we dream of flying to,
belongs to the same body as the hands that locked us in. 10/04/2009 Author's Note: I know the sentence ends with a preposition, but I couldn't bring myself to change it.
Posted on 10/05/2009
Copyright © 2024 Aaron Blair
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Charlie Morgan on 10/05/09 at 11:49 PM ...aaron, this is serendipitious for me...expecting a good pome and it's a staggeringly good pome, very well written...i say that 'it walks with tall legs' |
| Posted by Shannon McEwen on 10/06/09 at 09:30 PM A preposition at the end, the nerve! Ha, just kidding, I really like the imagery in this |
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