THE SURRENDER OF WINGS

 

THE SURRENDER OF WINGS

Having to surrender to truths,

bitter as unripe fruit

plucked from a twisted vine,

truths too jagged to counterfeit

beneath the chandelier’s glare

at dinner parties,

where laughter clinks

like hollow glass shattering

on a marble floor,

or socialite gatherings,

their velvet masks

smirking in the candlelight’s

flickering deceit—

we stand exposed,

naked as wind-stripped trees,

unable to fool ourselves,

let alone the mirrored eyes

of a crowd that peers

through the gauze

of our fragile charade,

their whispers

a chorus of unraveling threads,

a requiem

for the pretense

we can no longer stitch together.  

Releasing you

from my cupped palms,

a trembling chalice

of flesh and bone,

its edges cracked

by the weight of holding on,

I set you free—

a butterfly unfurling,

its wings

a mosaic of iridescent potential,

intellect shimmering

like dawn on dew-kissed silk,

a tapestry woven

from threads of starlight

and forgotten dreams.

I push you forth,

gifting you the sky,

a boundless canvas

of cerulean and storm,

to spread those radiant sails

and soar,

catching the unpredictable

currents of wind—

wild rivers of air