I Cannot Fly

Today, I cannot fly;

My wings are heavy.

They drag on the ground behind me like anvils,

Iron-stiff and slung low.

My back and chest ache to carry them,

Lungs burning with every step.

My wings are battered and leave a trail of feathers in their wake–

A downy wound in the dirt.

They hurt

And freely bleed as I lurch along the road.

But with every ragged breath I take, I can think of just two things:

Though today I cannot fly,

At least I still have wings.



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