@Copyright E. Charles Tucker, all rights reserved. Please do not reproduce without the expressed written consent of the author.


We wish for wings,
For freedom, and forget
Our wings of imagination.
We fly in our minds, our hearts,
Our souls.
We fly on wings of emotion,
On feathers of thought and deed.

In Love we soar highest,
Our wings the purest white, the softest down.
In Anger we fly fastest,
On wings of night and darkness.
In Joy we glide on rainbows,
Painting landscapes in our wake.
In Loss we fly listlessly, tired,
Our wings grey, thin, bleak.
In Dreams we float with clouds,
Feathers of gossamer threads of wind.
In Pain we fall, ever downward,
Wings no longer strong, no longer true.

In life our wings have no color,
No form, no truth.
We wish for them, hope for them,
Long for them.
We envy eagles, we play with butterflies.
We pray for angels.

I've wished for freedom, for wings,
For angels.
I've longed to fly, to soar, to float,
To drift amongst the birds, the clouds.
I've felt the wind, and envied it's path;
I've prayed for wings of my own.

I've flown, far and free;
I've danced with moonbeams,
Raced a cloud,
Bathed in the rays of the sun.

I've found my wings.
I've seen my angel.