Above the Gray

Few are charmed with albatross wings to glide high above the toothy surf to soothe the cliffs that yearn to sing in granite tones of golden destiny. Some are born with burning stumps, prone to dream... never to shadow suns. They cling to icy crags and siren tones, stumbling on drunken cliffs above bloody shoals. Others are born void of most everything... say for pearled hearts and hungry beaks. Gazing out toward indifferent skies, awaiting silver miracles that drift on by...on by. A few are never meant to breathe at all. Briefly tumbling in the throat of violent squall. wee flakes on glacial lakes of bluing memory few are charmed with albatross wings.