Flying: An Abecedarian Poem


Bird flies by when I look outside.

Carefree, the only weight is its wings. The bird

doesn’t know all the hope it carries on it’s feathered wings and yet it


flies over the

Grand Canyon to the

high mountain tops. The world places all their escapist thoughts

in the



little creature who happens to be gifted with the

much wanted almost

needed aspiration to fly.

Oh, so much

promise is placed

quietly in the


sleepless nights

to only be able to fly away.

Up in the

vast open sky is

where our

X-target seems to always lay.

You, dear bird, fly with

zeal for everyone places their’s on you.






2 responses »

  1. Sometimes when I watch the birds I sometimes wish I could be one of them, but only on the nice days when the weather is ideal, but I know that God in His infinite wisdom made me who I am.


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