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In The Shadows Of Great Wings.

Updated on January 10, 2010


In The Shadow of Great Wings!



I was
but a
humble maggot,
who fell
deep between
some sheaves,
in leaves of
crisp white paper,
quite crushed
by poetry,

Just a
simple boy
but words
bred class
as I devoured
"Leaves Of Grass,"
felt the chill
of fogged "Chicago,'
that on tiny cat
feet passed.

My heart
captured tight
between the walls,
in the caged
ribs of my flesh,
by books bound
so much tighter,
endless windows,
brilliant writers,
sharing beats
with which
it meshed.

And like all
lesser creatures,
I began to metamorph,
spreading my nubs
of pencil tips,
striving to master
well thought quips
as roughcut rhyme
silked from my lips,
I prayed flight
would come forth,

the winds
of fate would
lift me far
across the skies,
as the many legs
I journeyed on,
became fingers
pens fell
yearning on,
twisted left
and right awry.

But not
long after
my mom died,
white rectangles appeared,
with crisscrossed lines
in patterned space
on my bent shoulders
they brought grace,
my pain as wings
at last replaced.

So now I fly
through clouds of doubt,
and let my feelings     
all  > b u s t  o u t ,<
electric inkjets,
hear me shout,
this is what
life is all about,
write poems and let
your own wings sprout.

There is no
gravity in thought,
it soars
beyond one's mind,
and I'm a
dangling participle,
flying right behind,
the feelings
so devine.

To capture just
a micro speck,
of what in
beauty lies,
across this earth,
is my rebirth,
my poetry, my sighs,
as what's maggotry dies,
and on winged words I fly.





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