A BIRD ON THE EDGE OF SPACE.
Hold fast to dreams,
For if dreams die,
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly.
Hold fast to dreams.
For if dreams go,
Life is a barren field
Covered with snow.
The above is a draft written in July of 2013. I think I will finish it today.
"SHE TOOK THE LEAP
AND BUILT HERWINGS ON THE WAY DOWN."
The sign was posted on a house
just a mile down from my home,
in between the Phinney Ridge and Fremont neighborhoods, nailed up
on the wall between two doors of a duplex.
The duplex still stands,
the sign long gone,
as I suspect the tenant who posted it.
The neighborhoods have changed a bit, the result
of progress and prosperity of industry, and yet,
strangely, now slightly bled of beauty
and creativity. The folks who live there now
are less likely
to pin up a hand painted
piece of wood with the stencil of poesy.
Dreams still stand, though.
The arrogance of ambitions, the drive to go up, up, up
is still nestled in the hearts amongst us.
Is it also in you?
Currently, I'm in a tumble of urges
prompted by a lifelong dream.
I am quite good
at failure. Um, failures.
Also, seemingly, I've become
convulsively, amazingly persistent in the drive
to keep dreaming.
It's what makes this life switch the mundane
repetitive acts of eating, shitting and sleeping
to the divine push to make rainbows out of piss storms.
you were never so good
as the false belief that you could
out shine your wings
in the orbits of the sun.
- RQ Bella