Broken Wings

Broken wings maintain me down on rocky ground,
Far below the clear blue skies I wish to soar,
Frightened that my feathered appendages would
transform to wax if I rose too high,
No way to reach that pie in the sky.

Wings beaten down by toil, regret and despair,
What once lifted me now a depressing reminder of former self,
Wallowing in the ditches, pits and wells of this crooked landscape,
Averting from sunlight, searching for the gloom.

As a boy I looked up at the clouds with awe and wonder,
Conjuring images from their creamy fluffiness,
Now that ceiling has no interest for me.