Short Fully Fledged Poems

Panicked tiny footprints, zigzag, sharp;
Each an arrow hungry for direction.
Across them, newer, the fully-fledged
Outlines of boots, strong, deep.

Ahead, the bootprints side by side,
Suddenly, decisively:  imagine the arms.
Further on still, the arrows stagger,
Stop, and fading blood reds the way. 

This is the tale the snow tells,
Along the ugly, thorn-jagged hedge.
Its record is brief, the warmer winds
Of oblivion will sweep in, soon, too soon....

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he did not make me whatever it is that i am

he does not control what i do with my hands

he did not define what thoughts run through my mind

he does not dictate what words i will find

he did not allow me to break free of this grasp

he does not stop me from completing this task

he did not speak when i told him my aims

he does not participate in my intricate games

he did not stop me from becoming fully fledged

he simply pushed me when i got too close to the edge...

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