there's wind ruffling past wings
pure exuberance above the white clouds.
it's a state of being
pure and holy
yellow shining from the rays
and warmth pooling through your body.
two wings on your back
and a rush you could only hope to experience.
with a circle in the clouds
and a flight as strong as a dove's,
even icarus can only watch.
what are you supposed to do
when you're a thousand miles high?
prompt; write a poem based on an emotion.
outcome; (°▽°)
YOU ARE READING
help
Poetryearth → purgatory → heaven // hell ↓ illusion my poem compilation from the past year ♤ lowercase intended ♤
