No Room for Wings
I have no room for wings in this grey space.
A rubbish-littered alley darkly goes
Between two dingy walls, and wistful ghosts
Of slowly fading dreams dwell in this place.
Stark hieroglyphs of rust have streaked the face
Of soot-stained brick, held fast by iron bolts,
In words that trace illegibly my hopes -
They cannot long survive this shuttered waste.
Above the narrow walls I've tried to climb
So many times, and suffered many falls,
There gleams the golden ribbon of the sky.
Could I escape this prison of my mind,
Forego the chilly comfort of these walls,
And reach the top, I think that I could fly.