Flight

Alighting on thermals
warm air undulating
under extended wing
spirits soaring
as my heart begins to sing

The larks song
an ever constant companion,
a crystal note
on the ambient canvas
of a cloud strewn sky

A dock-masters sky
the low pressure lull
before a torrent
the product of a tepid tempest,
a mild-mannered terror

Water coalescing,
forming a sheen
adorning an awesome array
of phantasmagorical feathers
the embodiment of fashionable function

A favourable breeze
a friend to all fowl
a rocket in intensity
bulleting me out over the coast
past all matter of gull

I worship my wings,
they're my key to the clouds
they're the tools of my trade
They're my freedom
and so a guillotine I've inherently been endowed

Hell is on earth
I couldn't live with my wings bound,
living a normal life,
being damned to the ground.