beneath these wings
Much like Icarus, off they go;until condensation metes them
reality's condescension:
Whose goals and objectives
are minute in life's greater scheme;
wings fashioned from floss harps-
Yet they soar each firmament;
nary a doubt would sway resolve;
no tempest or tumult could dissuade.
If you chance upon a cloudless day
catch their echo of jubilant cries
and contemplate your turn to fly.
●○
°
Poetry by arquious
Read 714 times
Written on 2015-11-04 at 23:03
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