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edited poem

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Adam Piontek 2021-05-05 15:14:20 -04:00
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@ -14,17 +14,16 @@ Long ago, as I suppose many teens do, I tried to wrote poetry now and then. And
#### Will I Feel the Wind
I don't feel my wings.
I can't feel my wings.
Have I held them stiff so long they're numb?
Did they atrophy too far?
Did I amputate them and forget?
Slicing the skin and sinew,
rough implement cracking feathers?
Tearing skin and sinew,
cracking their feathers?
Did I scrap their sick crumpled span
somewhere lost?
Maybe I still feel something.
I used to dream of flight, soaring free.
Dancing dips and flips,
graceful landings, long horizons.
@ -34,12 +33,11 @@ They were more danger than delight.
More frightening than curiosity.
More risk than promise.
I've long since been unconfined,
but I'd already forgotten them.
The familiar posture stuck,
tucked in tight, cramped, tense, hidden.
tucked tight, cramped, tense, hidden.
I didn't notice when I could ease up;
Besides, holding that way got comfortable.
Holding it that way is what's comfortable.
I can't stretch them wide just yet.
Muscles weak, tingling sharp as I try.
This burning ache, is it tender love?