Weary of all the conjecture, the slants,
Belly full of trite and typical rants.
It's enough for the troubled, the broken,
Who have to amend it with so little spoken.
Die trying while you wait for the bomb;
Pray for the respite of happy and calm.
Fly out in euphoric bliss, dance of death,
On days it is torture to merely draw breath.
Eyes nearly close, tresses whirl in the breeze;
Touch my face, then graze my lips and appease.
We must embrace these things we abhor.
Rise up, rise up-
Mangled wings need to soar.
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This Poems Story
Mangled wings came to me when I was waiting for a traffic light to change. I was standing on the corner, coming home from work, feeling discouraged, among other things. I was reclaiming my life, after tragedy and illness. I had taken the first step. By the time that light changed, I knew I could do it. I knew that I would. And I did.