Iced Wings

I fly on ice wings soaring above All of this

Whirling away On snow Hating this

Fighting the air So thick Chocking

Plunging down through clouds Stained

Wings that are clipped Wings are torn Wings so fragile Never should be born

This entry was posted on Thursday, March 5th, 2009 at 4:16 pm and is filed under The Landscapes of the Mind. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.

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