Wounded bird,
broken wings,
I cannot,
I no longer know
how to rise.
A shattered dream.

Poor bird,
flightless,
a failure.
Dreams
in a nosedive,
into harsh reality.
Shattered,
crashed
plumage.

All broken,
I dreamed of flight,
and couldn't.
My body
is heavy.
I plunged,
I fell from grace;
I no longer know how to fly.

So much dreaming,
only to land
unwillingly.
And my dreams
have flown away.
I moved my hands,
and saw reality:
I was no angel.

I was no longer a child,
and everything hurt.
I wanted to be better,
but I'm not;
I corrupted myself.
And I was just me,
a poor soul
who flapped
in my dreams,
a loser
in my life,
only disaster.

Consumed
beyond remedy,
I reached the end,
landed on earth,
dreams undone.
Neither angel, nor good,
nor child, just an old man
who never learned to fly.
Hope took flight.

Carlos Alberto Bustillos López
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