I’ve always doodled feathers, as far back as i can remember
I know Freud would probably have something to say about that, or any
Psychologist worth their salt
And it makes me wonder what have i to say about that, it can’t be
Flight; I’m scared of heights.

When the nightmares come, they’re all about
Ninety degree ladders beneath clear, still skies, and above tormented waves
I scale and scale
Until i miss a step and my hand slips and down i go, plunging into
Depths, heart stuttering with gasping breaths.

No, it isn’t flight, i can be sure so elsewhere now i turn
But ‘light as a feather’ or so they say, so maybe it’s all about the fall
To drift gracefully, side to
Side, all the way down to the steady ground, and to land upon my
Back.