Once clipped, they became strong
Feathers grew from broken wings.
Vicious tongues made her climb, high.
Till blood dripped from her perfect nose
and stained what were once virgin robes.
The earth was not for her. She flew.
Taking in that delicious saltiness of
life. Eyes watering from something so
pure, even the gods climaxed at the
very thought of breathing it in.
She travelled on her journey. Age was no
matter, the sweet elixir coursing
through her veins. Higher and higher she
rose. So high that the heat would burn small
holes on her arms and legs.
Secrets kept her aloft. Soaring on thermals
of treacherous air. Never once looking down
to see her reflection in the waters below.
Other fliers would call out her name and
she would flutter in all her glory.
But perfect wings can’t last forever. They tire.
Like a Cinnabar that flew once too often
to the flame, she scorched, fell from grace and
lay broken. No glue could mend.
Her pretty wings will fly no more.