Thorns

Everything is thorns,

And the words you flung

Were swords.

I am a ghost

In a house haunted

By Us–our firsts, our fists,

My flight cut short

From wings clipped

By fear of fault,

Of life, of being

A(lone)

For the first time

A dream

Held tight for so

Long, I don't know

If I can make it real…

To soar in a world

So close to the

Sun, the drip

Of melting

Wax and feathers

The strip of

Light between curtains.

But to not try

Would only be

To turn the key

In my own cage.

I need the Oracle,

A sage to tell me

The right path to

Take, I've already made

So many mistakes

But I suppose it's time

To gather up pieces

And start over again

(and again, and again

Ad infinitum...)