Scattering the Ashes of a Dream

I had a pair of the most beautiful wings, But I grew bored with flying And so I never used them, Never exercised them or Stretched them out to feel the Sun on my back, That warm glow that lately I had been too accustomed to the cold To appreciate as I used to. I got so used to seeing the world As a bird would, Looking down through the clouds, My heart held somewhere between Heaven and the endless rapture of A thousand sunrises and a thousand sunsets, But when I had been grounded long enough, My memory of this grew dim. I would always hear, “Your wings are so lovely!” “How ever did you get them?” “I would just die to have a pair!” I shrugged all these words off, replying, “Yeah, I suppose they’re OK,” Never once realizing the myriad of gaces Crisscrossed with envy, jealousy, want, and desire. I had a gift in my wings, I was special I was every man’s fantasy And every woman’s dream But the longer I had them, The less special they felt And the less I desired To be among the clouds, Close to the warm embrace of the sun Where I belonged. I spent so much time on the ground, Not caring, Not remembering, Forgetting… So that one day I reached back To feel one of my wings, Just to make sure they were there, And felt it crumble to dust between my fingers And blow away on the breeze That I could have been riding on. Now I wish I could catch an updraft Or take a nap on a cloud Or soar as close to the sun As my strength would permit me But it’s too late for that now; I am a man without wings I was born to fly but stopped caring And so I doomed myself to forever walk In the shadows that I could have been soaring above.