Mark Peterson Poet Free verse

Flight Without Wings

The ragged precipice surmounted,
he stands, leaning forward, looking down
into nature's yawning rictus—
pondering flight without wings.

Restlessness in being,
he’s come unhinged in time
whose moments intertwine,
leaving him indifferent to his age.

Neither older than yesterday
nor younger than tomorrow,
life's review passes. Reaching out his arms,
he jumps...and simply floats away.

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Arturo Michael April 19, 2020 at 12:13 PM If you can't lift off... in my opinion...you can't fly... and if you jump, who ain't dead badly injured...your poem free's the spirit to fly...Nice one Mark Peterson April 19, 2020 at 1:05 PM Arturo, your comments are always so thought-driven and reasonable. Of course, why didn't I think of that sort of thing. Always glad to hear what pours from your fertile mind.

Craig Cornish January 18, 2018 at 10:57 AM Mark, great to see you posting again, especially with a gifted write like this which is truly multidimensional. Mark Peterson January 25, 2018 at 11:06 AM Thanks so much, Craig. Nice for me to get noticed--keeps me trying.

Poet Destroyer A January 9, 2018 at 8:13 PM It would be amazing to stream free, without fear... Mark, I am amazed, with the imagery. It's much deeper than one can imagine. Always, Linda Mark Peterson January 13, 2018 at 11:30 PM Linda, thank you so much for your very pleasing comments, thoughts and observations. Very welcome indeed. I wonder often how you are doing.

Connie Marcum Wong January 8, 2018 at 12:13 AM To let the restraints of time not affect our past or future, but to dwell always in the now as if there is no time, because it is true. We are capable of so much more than we will ever know Mark. We are the body electric! I loved this poem Mark. The word that comes to mind is freedom. : ) Mark Peterson January 13, 2018 at 11:33 PM Truly, we do not know and probably could not comprehend that of which we are capable. It has truly never entered into anyone's mind. However, when we transition to those higher planes, my guess is that we will be pleased. Eternity...a very long time, especially toward the end (Woody Allen).

S.Zaynab Kamoonpuri January 5, 2018 at 12:21 AM Coincidentally I recently observed in awe a beetle in Amber preserved since prehistoric times so I enjoyed your awesome, eloquent, creative muse on this. Even if u were referring to it in sublime allegory. Great rhyme scheme. Do read my replies too. Mark Peterson January 8, 2018 at 1:02 AM Thanks very much sir. I did rewrite this poem but would love to retain your comment. Or you can delete, append or add a second note, at your pleasure.

Connie Marcum Wong January 3, 2018 at 2:07 AM Your poetry always leaves me in awe Mark. I love amber because it does seem to be timeless. Beautiful! I wish you a wonderful New Year my friend. xxoo : ) Mark Peterson January 3, 2018 at 3:49 PM Thanks, Connie. It was inspired by the movie Samadhi, the Illusion of Self, the notion of allowing mundane unimportant things to pass through and focus on things of eternal worth--opposite the reaction of practically everyone. Interesting things are happening to my poetry in response to the influence of guides in the subtle realm.