Pictures are hanging on my wall
tilted expertly to the side, coming up a little short
of the memories i expect them to hold.
there was a plague, venomous distribution of
everything held dear to the sky, in fact,
so that even if i tried, i would be slyly
eluded.
it was ambition that came out of nowhere,
a simple little project created, cut and crafted
from a fine fabric desiring freedom,
and if i remember correctly, the exact words used were,
angel with wings tied up,
and they still are.
the older i get, the harder it hits
that those ropes are so thick that
its going to take an awfully sharp blade to
be rid of them.
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