A Thing that Exists But Does Not Live
by Aaron Blair
With feathers sewn to back, I fly,
the wind raising ridges of scars like mountains,
and upon it I am born aloft,
but I was born to die,
so the fall becomes inevitable,
and after it the winter, crystals forming in air.
They melt on my face, tears bereft of salt,
the water fresh, but dirty still,
because it touched the earth
my feet can't stand to walk upon.
But I am so heavy that I break the clouds,
and the sky refuses to have me.
The scales on my skin are not silvered enough
to swim the places in between.
I am neither fowl nor fish nor human being,
but I play at them all, half-hearted.
Maybe one day I will turn to stone,
so hard that nothing can touch me,
at peace the way that stones are:
things that exist but do not live,
unbothered by the fires of the world.
Posted on 08/05/2013
Copyright © 2023 Aaron Blair
|Member Comments on this Poem|
|Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 08/06/13 at 12:26 AM|
Neat title and poem to follow. Love poems about the sky and flight...or lack of it. Adds to favourites.
|Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 08/06/13 at 09:07 PM|
I really enjoy how you think and how you developed this piece. Thank you.
|Posted by Philip F De Pinto on 12/13/14 at 12:50 PM|
I love this ode, more than I can express. I think it is the way we all feel, entrenched in mystery, as will befall all things, animate and not.