I try to fly with wings I’ve torn
With repairs I’ve quickly shorn
I get too high and then I fall
as if a dream that was not born
I think to myself as I fall
is this my one and only call
as I hope for some sortilege
to change my name upon fates wall.
I take my chances on the edge,
but I am one to keep a pledge
For nearest to me are my friends
mo matter the chore nor the dredge.
I will find a new par of wings
I will find a new voice that sings
I promise this as I descend
Though I fall it’s never the end
Author notes
SORTILEGE MAGIC
In a list
A contest entry
- Since Plautus is dead... by Brian A.
1700 points, ended April 19, 15 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
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What form is this? It isn't an interlocking Rubaiyat so I'm confused. I need you to put that information into the AN.
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