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By Rik Walton [CC BY-SA 2.0], via Wikimedia Commons

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Herbert James Draper [Public domain or Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

I wouldn’t heed your warnings that were couched in metaphor,
And I would wonder if you really meant to tell me more.

I’d skim across the waters, flying low and flying free,
And yet I’d keep my distance from the foaming of the sea.

And if my wings were to get damp I’d soar to greater height,
The wind against them drying them and making them so light.

But, being free, I’d want to fly up towards the warming sun,
To get away from all the chains that bound me just to one.

And though you warned me ‘gainst it, I’d fly closer, closer still
My beating wings propelling me up an invisible hill.

I’d fly until the wax that bound my wings began to melt,
And panic as I fell to earth, a fatal blow’d been dealt.

I’d tumble through the sky until I crashed upon the ground,
The glorious freedom that I felt now lost that I was downed.

Despite my wings in tatters by my sides, my broken bones,
I’d rejoice in the knowledge that I’d finally, really flown.

I’d cast aside my fear and taken risks to live my life
I hadn’t cowered inside my shell or hidden from the strife.

And as my battered body breathed its last I’d see the sky,
I’d be content, my soul at peace, and with a smile I’d die.

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