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Jme Love Apr 5
You gave me wings
We flew so high
You cut them off
That night in the sky
Fell to the earth
Shattered and bruised i
From the dirt and rubble
Without you
Pluck these feathers one by one
never mind the setting sun
I now have only just begun
to do what cannot be undone

Condemned to this tiny cage
Perched upon its iron stage
It's no way to come of age
So alas I am enraged

I have prayed now to the lord
to ask if he can afford
for death to be my reward
But again I am ignored
Forever I'll be bored

Pluck these feathers one by one
never mind the setting sun
I now have only just begun
to do what cannot be undone

I will gladly trade these wings
to feel ordinary things
I care not what this may bring
so, don't ask for me to sing

I suppose the time is nye
to my wings I say goodbye
I will never get to fly
and I'll seldom see the sky
but that pain it felt alive
Like a caged bird, I will anxiously pluck out my feathers until my escape is forever out of reach
Francis Oct 2023
I love them,
They don’t love me.
Why would they?
They’re hot,
And delicious,
And I’m just…
******* them down to the bone.

Buffalo wings rip up my insides,
They’ll inflame my chest and belly,
Giving me heartburn,
As I power through my consumption of them,
And yet I still crave them on a frequent basis,
As if I didn’t learn my lesson the last time.

Bone in or bone out,
It doesn’t really matter at this point,
I gave up trying to develop a preference,
As I’m committed to my hankering,
And seek regular satisfaction,
From the sensation and flavor they provide me.

Eyes full of tears,
I power through the pain,
Believing that each and every wing is worth it,
Even if I know they don’t agree with me,
And know **** well they are not good for me,
It’s like hitting yourself in the face,
But laughing at the sound it makes.

Wings come in all shapes, sizes and flavors,
But I choose the buffalo wing every time,
For the mere fact that they taste the best,
Even if they end up causing the most damage.
They don’t even fill me up,
But they do make me feel like I’ve had enough.

How many buffalo wings would it take,
For me to try a new flavor?
Is it the saltiness that appeals to me?
Is it the spiciness that enslaves me?
Is it the drippiness that seduces me?

Why not something sweeter, like BBQ,
Or savorier like Parmesan Garlic?
Why not choose plain old wings,
With a little bit of seasoning to keep it interesting?

Nope, I’ll always go for the buffalo wing,
I’ll always have that craving,
Because sometimes, living on the edge,
Knowing the risks and going ahead anyway,
Makes loving wings all the more worth it,
Despite their destructive ways.
We know what this poem really is about. Come on, guys.
many will know the beauty
of a butterfly's wing
and the delicate intricacy
of their decoration
those swathes of colour
meandering boldly in flight
a proclamation of
             their presence
             their providence
whose startling eyespots
can mimic the stolid gaze
of the stern and the alluring
observing in judgement
or perhaps in wonder
blinking only as they flutter
flattered disbelieving
yet there are reminders
in that Rorschach patterning
that those with ill intent
should observe
threats and
             warnings overlooked
by those in admiration
of such beauty
where few will heed
that gossamer fragility
broken by any
not considerate enough
in their handling
Amanda Kay Burke Sep 2023
The door opens to world beyond
Say one final goodbye
We wish our time lasted longer
Your turn to be lifted into the sky
Always aware you were an angel
Now you have finally got wings to fly
About my mom
seated in a cafe
are in ocean
tides of
to one
wings of
and thought,
if only humans
knew of their
Prashant Shaurya Jan 2023
I saw her in my dream last night
Silhouetted against the moonlit sky
Dissolved in the aura of the moon
She asked me if I wished to fly.

Her magic warmed my rustic soul
Deep musings came to life, encore
She swayed her hands to heal my heart;
Together we’d fly or fall apart.

To all the great powers that be
Grant me a pair of wings to see
What lies above the bright blue sky
I wish to fly, I wish to fly.

Prashant Shaurya ©

All Rights Reserved
I’ve titled this poem as Silhouette because it was triggered by this very beautiful word. Silhouette… such a beautiful word!!
You gave me the freedom to fly against the wind
And tried to hold my string in your hand
But you never realized I was a bird, not a kite
Who has its own wing to chase the sky...
And now that you've recognised my flight
It's too late for me to climb that height..!
Few things need to be done on their right time, once their time gets over. It's almost impossible to do them again with the same perfection...
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