the promise of flight

It is swift and terrible.

I am in the expanse,

exposed to the putrid

stench of carrion.

Fear focuses my eyes.

A pathway opens up, and I am skittering through      

dead leaves, sand, and bone. ‍

.

It is swift and terrible.

The beating of monstrous wings,

the piercing screech of death

rips the red sky apart. 

Clouds gather darkly to my left. 

All I know is the panic, the impending pain, and      

the promise of flight.

.

the promise of flight

02.24.22

.

Author's note:

I wrote this poem on a particularly dark Thursday in February. It's not enough that the world constantly feels on the brink of destruction, every now and then it feels like it's out to get you. Specifically, you. It's great. Love it when that happens.

I am the poor field mouse desperately trying to escape the inevitable. In a way, we all are. But hopefully, it doesn't keep us from trying.