The Broken Line
A Poem Of a One Time Flyer
The wind blows with a scent of the sea
And carries the songs of the mountains.
Our dreams must not yield to the earth's pull
But like a kite against the white line
They ascend on such unseen powers.
Forget not that dreams need their tether
It's the very tension that gives lift,
And when we let go the line they drift;
To be assaulted by screaming crows,
And pulled down to the terminal ground
Where they are eaten by field mice.
Perhaps some cold day we will stumble
Across the tattered, rotting remains
Of a dream, that we once sought to float
Upon some lost unseen summer wind-
It is now only a broken thing.
Have a care that you do not blindly
Step past its remains in your pursuit
Of a stagnant and dutiful life-
No, stop and kneel down in the mud
To remember the sight of a dream
That was once embraced by the blue sky.
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(c) Adron Dozat 2017