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A spiritual poem which is a metaphor for a certain situation. I'm not sure I even grasp the connotations of it myself. As usual with me, to the point of boredom I'm sure, it involves forgiveness or the quest for such.

Broken Wings

Fdf5205c-8b5b-4da8-a6dc-63fe28d680a9by Billy J. Stewart09 Jul 2014

Would that everything was yesterday again,
When twilight’s breeze was felt upon my face,
I could then recall a time of longing when
Your hand in mine was never out of place.
But now I sit here slumped upon these crumbling steps,
Regarding all who dare to pass me by,
Calling out your name lest ailing memory forgets,
Too scared to think, and too far gone to cry.
Where once we soared upon the wind to Heaven’s Gate
Riding undercurrents over mountain fair,
The air is empty only with regrets proliferate,
No more to sift the beauty of your hair.
Oh what if I could only for a moment dwell,
In oneness with your heart a beat with mine,
And taste the warmth and honey of that secret well
Your head upon my breast, where you’d recline.
Together we would fly into the star-lit night
And catch the rising swell above the sea,
Our joy was like a brilliant everlasting light,
Expelling all the dark from inside me.
What happened to the impulse of your calling song
The one that joined the cosmic hosts in choral voice?
To echo round…that place… for oh so long,
At the very mention of its name would I rejoice.
And now I sit here contemplating searing loss,
Unbelieving of what fate has sent to me,
Bleeding in my soul and all that comes across,
Is how so different it just really ought to be.
Do you remember how we used to chase the setting sun
Across the oceans far from east to west?
Over spilling joy with eyes affixed upon the One,
Bathed in glory of unfathomable rest.
I may never fly again I know that now,
Or catch the tailwind of a shooting star,
Or ride in vanguard front upon celestial bow,
Singing out delight to all from near and far.
No I can only hope that I may one day stand,
And maybe even walk a step or two,
In clumsy, stumbling stall, by taking someone else’s hand,
And they in pity help me see it through.
No, those the days of soaring high into the rising air,
To go to where the Freedom Spirit sings,
Are gone and I can never even hope to dare,
To think to get a mend for broken wings.
No, this my falling, holds me like a tethered rock,
No hope have I of rescue on my own.
All crumpled, crushed and battered by the cruel mock,
My once impassioned heart has turned to stone.
So wings I have but they received a mortal blow,
In charging I too close into the sun,
Forbidden fruit a bitter taste for sure I know,
I look for hope and find that there is none.
So as you pass me do not turn the other way,
This man once rode the Jet Stream into Heaven,
Pathetic now, for sure, and as he fades away,
He only asks that he….might be…forgiven…