the wings are still there
propped in a dark corner
of a forgotten room
since childhood
tattered and moth-eaten
dull gray with dust
feathers drooping
beneath Time’s weight
they whisper of a dream
where anything is possible
where I can fly
if only I believe
and possess a child’s courage
to strap on gossamer wings
constructed of faith and innocence
and leap blindly into space
© 2019 KT Workman
