1.3 KiB
%{ title: "Will I Feel the Wind", id: "poem-will-i-feel-the-wind", date: ~N[2021-05-05 13:00:00], author: "Adam Piontek", tags: ~w(poetry acoa aca spirituality) }
Long ago, as I suppose many teens do, I tried to wrote poetry now and then. And then I learned to hate my poetry, and I stopped. I wonder if I could just be kind to myself and enjoy trying?
Will I Feel the Wind
I don'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?
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.
But who would love my winged majesty?
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.
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?
Will I feel the wind?
Will it grace me with a lift?
Will it hold me like a friend?