*Originally published in White & Blue's Kuwaderno
The sun –
I yearn to
touch,
to bask in
its warmth,
to melt the
ice
slowly
creeping
into every cracks of my life.
But I am
afraid
that
stretching my wings
will prove
to be futile –
too weak,
too fragile
to carry me
on my flight.
And the
people shall laugh
at my fall.
Mock me.
Spit on me.
For
believing I can rise
above the
filth.
They’ll call
me proud.
Mad. Insane.
A dreamer
in their
world
of
disillusionment.
And maybe I
am.
But to stay
is to be
destroyed.
Forever cocooned
in comfort.
Eternally
caught
in fantasies of safety.
Trembling,
I dare to
fly.
Better to
fall
than never attempt
to leave the
ground.
Better to be
scorched
by the sun
than never
struggle
to touch it
at all.
And they’ll
call me proud.
Mad. Insane.
Mock me.
Spit on me.
But they
can’t say
I’ve never dreamed
and that
I’ve never lived.
Labels: Creative Works