Without my wings

I feel so little, small

and the sky’s grim

so grim, gray and dim

 

like my memories of freedom

when I knew how to fly

roaming clouds and stars alike

plowing fields of summer wine

 

and seeing the unseeable

the blue in the darkness

the oceans in the deserts

shrouded in an icy sadness.

 

The air is winter

blindness is my eyes.

Hope is gone.

The rain is cold.

The sun is weak.

The day is bleak.

 

Image by Quotesgram