Born to fly,
wingspans stretch.
Owning our fate
with daring dreams.
Ascending, descending,
and blaming the gods
for cursing our crashes.
’Til our spirits summon everlasting breath
beneath our worn feathers,
winds of chaos
carry us forever.
While carried, we watch
some fall;
grounded in worship
to legally bound.
While carried, we watch
demigods soar,
abandoning the gods
with rebellious roars.
While carried, we catch
our reflection beaming
in oceanic minds
of depth and reeling.
Born to fly,
ascending, descending,
owning our fate
or eternally dreaming
of whatever reality
winds of chaos bring.
At least we own
the wear on our wings.
---
Alternative Title: The Wear on Our Wings Part One
About the Creator
Enjoyed the story? Support the Creator.
Subscribe for free to receive all their stories in your feed. You could also pledge your support or give them a one-off tip, letting them know you appreciate their work.
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.