My wings are not chained, only heavy.
Rain from the sky,
snow from the mountain peaks
drag them downward.
A bird meant to fly above clouds
now rests on a silent branch.
I try to flap my wings
against a low, updraft
to rise,
to reach the sky I dream of.
Jan 30
Jan 30, 2026 at 12:36 AM UTC
My wings are not chained, only heavy.
Rain from the sky,
snow from the mountain peaks
drag them downward.
A bird meant to fly above clouds
now rests on a silent branch.
I try to flap my wings
against a low, updraft
to rise,
to reach the sky I dream of.
