Wings

the wings are still there
propped in a dark corner
of a forgotten room
since childhood

shaggy and moth-eaten
dull gray with dust
feathers drooping
beneath Time’s weight

they whisper of a dream
where anything is possible
where I can fly
if only I believe

and possess a child’s courage
to strap on gossamer wings
constructed of innocence and faith
and leap blindly into space

Photo via Pixabay