To take away,

with the accordance of a fowl,

the flight of a child

is not the loss of air.

 

The wings that protrude

from the back of your aims

are the soul that keeps one on fire;

 

grown from the back of the bones,

the present shoulder blades.

 

Ever elloquent in nature,

present

from the nature,

the life,

the mind,

a tune that prevails;

 

the feathers that caress the wind,

the atmosphere that one creates.

 

To take away,

an impossibility of the physical.

the flight of a child is ever existent;

the detail generated by imagination,

 

I have come to this realization......