What Doesn't Fly
I was something that flew in another life
I was a thing that flew in a past life
Memory is poor in a mind but a soul captures secrets forever
The wings of a bird hide in my arms and gasp alive in the whisper of a breeze
The wind is a lost lover and it caresses under feathers long gone
It pleads, it begs, it demands in a language of hissing tounges and invisible lines
The pierce of a harpoon in a chest far to heavy, it balloons, drags, draws
Weak to the pull I spread my arms wide and my soul rises in untamed hope
The wind pulls, it slides, it lifts on arms weaker than mine and is ready to embrace me as it has done before
Wings know the motion it’s a guide burned wild nature learned a thousand times before
Birds foolish enough to be not birds again know the beat
To match how the wind dances it’s circular and powerful.
A rise on an arrow and the fall of rain on fire it’s a cycle of whims
The repeat, it’s power, its working its lightness and a hug from the invisible
It’s hard, exhausting it’s energy is strength my muscles don’t have
It’s how it’s supposed to be and my soul knows and remembers.
The ground will fight, I will dance low on breezes until I am powerful enough to be away.
The ice under my skin
the fire in my limbs
and the lightness in my chest
it’s there.
It’s all there
It’s not
I am too heavy
My feathers long gone
My limbs not strong
I remain where I am the same as before with the other humans saying I am wrong
I can’t fly, but they can’t see my soul on the breeze,
its in a memory too good for me to see
I can feel it’s elation, it’s joy set free in the wind that guides its wings up
I remain and I am not sad, when my soul dives back back to me it tells my body a story
The lightness, the exertion, how the sky’s embrace is soft, It’s pleasure, it’s heaven
It’s something my bones listen about and it lives in wait in my every vein and cell
This body will never know what true flight is and neither will my mind
I will decay until I can fake fly no longer and it will die sitting on a wish
My soul will be free of its cage at last and go to where souls go
If there is a God, a robed skeleton or a happy man, my soul will stand determined before it
It will wait a year , a decade, a century for the chance
if the world has rotted away along with this body
and if wings are forgotten for a million years by the life so insistant to remain
If it has to wait I am sure it will
“Where will you go” the end will ask my soul patient with answer
“I want to be something that flies” it will say
About the Creator
Jori T. Sheppard
I make my own cover art to my stories. I don't follow the traditional approach, I need to challenge myself by putting a twist on the prompts I am given. The only rule I follow is "Don't be bad", and that gives me a A LOT of wiggle room
Comments (4)
I sure hope its not a robed skeleton. I love the flow of the words. So nostalgic.
I love it-- we too are just like birds with wings, not all of us can see it; to be bale to use it. I call that wing, free-will, and sad thing is, most people knows they have one but only lost the will to fly
Great imagery. I also love the form here because it fits so well with your subject.
I loved your imagery. I just got back from the beach where I took many photos of birds. I envy them their ability to glide above the noise.