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A poem.

By Kris LelielPublished 4 years ago Updated about a year ago 1 min read
Photo by Jason marquis on Unsplash

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

surreal poetry

About the Creator

Kris Leliel

Kris Leliel is a strange writer who posts about the occult and spirituality, goth stuff, horror, creative writing, mental health, and her own creative ventures. She has a Masters in Liberal Studies and a BA in English & Psychology.

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