1.3 Breath Before Flight
The stillness that comes before becoming
I cradle a dream
but tremble at its weight—
still learning to voice its wings.
My grades gleam bright,
but glow without warmth.
Knowledge drifts through cracks—
enough to pass,
not enough to rise.
Who am i?
What is my purpose?
Perhaps i am a soul
holding itself together
hoping fate is gentle,
as my heart stirs.
I fear regret—
this gift fading unclaimed,
mourning the self
i never allowed to be.
Yet maybe—
this pause is no ending.
Maybe it is the wind,
inhaling softly
waiting
for me to learn
how to soar.
About the Creator
Anu's Quill
I’m just an existential wanderer who happened to stumble into poetry. I think about writing more than I actually write—not the best poet, but trying to get better, word by word, as I share my thoughts and voice.
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