'Flying Dreams.'
By blackheart
Stop, how could i ever? As i touch the summer air. And burn brown, and black, To ashes... the slowly floating heathers. So calm i feel now, i know not why, nor how! But sure i be, of them, of me, That now i find my peace. Wrapped inside a cotton cloud, Blinded by the gentle shroud... Wrapped all warm around me. i wonder... can i; Grow bird wings, and fly? Perhaps! But, surely not! For i, yes, i. i am not bird, Nor shall i ever be. Although... Maybe, When i dream... My mind will sprout me feathers, And then through summer air, And the blackened burning heathers, I shall spread my wings, and fly in perfect ashes; rare. Written January 22nd, 2002 © on Jan 21 2002 10:15 PM PST, harry luck 0 • 12
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"Stop, how could i ever?..."