Fly By Night


The sky, burnished in slick ebony paint,

beckons me to come

and I am all but frenetic in the offering.

I reach behind me,

unhook the binds that keep my wings tucked close

shaking them loose to ready for flight.

I braid my hair in one long plait down my back-

its color blends well with the night-

and tie the end with a silver strand.

Its not often I am given this opportunity

and I shall grasp the chance

with willing wings and compliant soul.

Opening the window, the evening breeze is nipped

with a chill of the season

and goosepimples shiver along my skin.

I perch on the ledge, steadying myself briefly

before leaning out and letting the air carry me off

in a glorious embrace of freedom.

In an instant, I am soaring higher than birds dare to venture,

darting in and out of the clouds and stars

and reaching heights of glory.

Up there, no pain exists, no worries follow,

all is left below far from reaching

and even farther from mind.

Gracefully, I fly by night in utter bliss.

The experience borders on passion,

the feeling of release resembles that of ecstasy's culmination.

The beams of moon, the warmth of starlight,

both act together as a soothing balm

and heals me whole, repairs me fully and mends me well.

But alas, I know this moment is mere fleeting

and reality awaits beneath me

to bring me back down to the actualization of earth.

And so, I must descend from this rapture

and return to the life I know-

the life of what is true and acutely evident.

Regretfully and with sadness, I return to the ledge,

crawl inside, bind the wings tightly behind,

undo my hair to fall loosely down and slide to the floor weeping.

I weep for the too few chances given,

the too few moments of serenity, peace

and the harshness of what I know as absoluteness.

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