Wings

I have wings dangling from my ears, and I only wish they'd let me fly. They're wings, for sure, but instead of bringing me up, they're only weighting me down. It might have something to do with the fact that they're simply cheap metal etched with the likeness of feathers. No wonder I'm still bound to the earth.

But, still, I dream. Like maybe someday I'll taste the clouds from heights like Heaven, and have the speed of wind tangle in my hair. Yeah, I know. It has a snowball's chance of surviving July in South Carolina of coming for true. But is wanting to kiss the very stars such an empty aspiration?