Another poem for the In Search of Lost Wings series; this one is for Glancing Upward.

Fallen Wings

I thought that she had paused to rest
When she knelt upon the ground,
But there she gathered to her breast
Some feathers she had found,
Then stood, and toward the sky she sped
A melancholy frown.


I wonder sometimes, when it rains,
Do drops know where they fall?
Does lightning ever pause and strain
To hear its own voice call?
Does melting ice feel any pain,
Or does it care at all?

I see the blinds close in your eyes,
You think my questions queer,
And formulate some pleasant lies
You think I wish to hear,
Not knowing that these questions rise
Like smoke above my fear.

On nights like this I feel I'm kin
To lightning, ice and rain,
A force incapable of sin
And innocent of blame,
But set in motion by a spin
That I did not ordain.

Options? Yes, they do exist,
But I don't make the call,
They're items on my User's list
For him to choose withal,
To be whatever he might wish,
So he won't take the fall.

I was not built to be myself,
My Maker had a plan,
And I must trust, and follow it,
For that's the way of Man;
The only path to inner peace,
To follow as I can.

And yet, if lightning willed its thrust,
And rain did clouds defy,
And ice ignored a warming touch
Would that cause so much strife?
Would order be upset too much
If I could choose my life?

With wounded eyes she upward glanced,
And never said a word,
She stroked the feathers in her hands
As though she held a bird,
Then shrugged and tossed them back again
Like nothing had occurred.

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