Fallen

Somewhere in the brilliance of radiant white feathers,
I remembered too late the power of nature.
The earth binds and caresses us with ancient warmth;
with perennial powers that hold us to the ground.

In truth, its the fire that holds us for so long.

No longer do I aspire to worlds of white-
visions of clouds seen from the other side.
Man is not familiar with the top of the sky,
sheltered in Her arms, we've forsaken the blue.

And now, I make my own clouds, because ive forsaken it too...

Consequence is overwhelming when the world quiets;
when thoughts accustomed as old adversaries find us.
In the slowest panic imaginable I have made substitutions;
traded my dreams for addictions easier to hold onto.

Even so, my fingers and lungs are stained anew.

Its in the quiet moments purchased by vanity's edge
that lucid hands recognize their operation.
Just leaving my fingers is one more feather
flowing freely into the sapphire home I no longer belong to.

For only the feathers will know the many winged escape...