flight of freedom #2

These wings were never meant to fly
Straight to you in raging fits of passion.

Nor to be plucked out in forlorn despair
In fear of time’s machinations, or love’s.

These wings were not accessories
(Not a gift of red bull, or whatever else)

They were not of the world of butterflies
Adorning gardens of luscious spring.

They were not shards of unsteady moons
To be put together in dreams and diaries.

These wings were not delicate chains, nor
awkward gifts of unwanted memories.

These wings were my rebellion.
And Icarus had the right idea.