Sharing for The Sunday Muse #223.
But the deconstruction comes at the chorus
It's not the same thing: wings aren't flight
The sky isn't the same day and night
I'll turn my back on angel's secrets
Because my wings were never white.
The only time the window rolls down
Your palm finally catches the slipstream
There's a lift that pushes back, shoves;
Flight doesn't float, it's always finding
The hardest push.
-- Chrissa
I love "Because my wings were never white". And "Flight doesnt float." Very cool poem.
ReplyDeleteSome deep and lovely thoughts in these amazing lines Chrissa and that last line is one of the truest ones I have ever read! Beautiful writing!
ReplyDeleteYou have captured a bit of darkness and light - the owl is a harbinger of night but, it is wise as it sees through different eyes.
ReplyDeleteThat ending, and your poem's message, knocked me over. I think, then, that it must be true.
ReplyDelete'Flight doesn't float, it's always finding
ReplyDeleteThe hardest push.' - fabulous!
Your poetry pushes boundaries ... profound ... forcing a long read, a deep dive.
ReplyDeleteI love the whole poem. Your ending speaks right to me. Great Writing as always!!
ReplyDeletePhysics and poetry are a rather unholy combination, yet you make it work--this is striking, Chrissa, full of truth that is shown not stated, and images that fly on their own wings. Really excellent poem.
ReplyDeleteLove this, Chrissa! No white wings for you.
ReplyDelete