The Cost of Being Blind

In my mother's great calming sighs

I find solitude.

However, I realise that my wax wings will not last.

This I can feel from the burning in my arms

Our sun god embracing closer to me

Costs enough of springtime's soul for the earth to realise

How little the sky reveals about us marching ants.

There is more to my dreams than great heights,

But something concerning my collected feathers

Leaves the crashing cities' domes of opal to trust the crowd.

Trust the crowd, then, submit and do not think to falter.

I will soar higher without you and be blinded, I pray, before I plummet.

~