Friday, 19 January 2018

On The Loss Of Nocturnal Wings


I wish that I could fly again, in dreams.
I flew so well, with so much grace and ease.
I flew beside the reservoir and streams
Where I had played in childhood, 
And, just as then, this out door play would lead
To that sudden yearning, inexplicable need,
To touch base,
Return to that fixed and thickly walled in space,
That most secure and solid place,
Where I could start a different game, 
Or seem to ride on empty air beneath the beams.
And there was never any sense that it was fantasy,
I knew with certainty that I’d succeed,
When I took wing I flew straightforwardly, 
Not in an attempt to please,
Or terrify myself, yet knew the thrill
Of swooping freedom and of gliding speed.


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