Wings…a poem

wings
might be waiting for me
when I leave here
but they’ll be black
with singed edges
and a few missing feathers
here and there
I won’t have a harp
I’ll have a sword
I won’t be wearing
a silly stereotypic
white robe
I’ll be wearing black armor
and I won’t be
peaceful
or calm
I’ll still be
pissed off
and ready to
fight

it’s good for us
to know who we are
that way
we can keep doing
what we do
best
and not kid ourselves
that we will suddenly
become
someone else

We might not have wings…but we can still fly.

Picture from Pixabay

This is for Resa, who is into wings…

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