The Sound of Flight

Brambles climb about me
And strangle my last hope,
Languished prayers abandoned
Sliding down a slope.

Maelstroms of morrow
Have layered on my wing
The souvenir of sorrow
No longer lets me sing.

I keep circling round the sun
But I’m bound to the moon,
A marrowed tug survives
Tethered in a tune.

Wings were not created
Just for angels in their sphere
They flex within my soul
Reminding hope is ever near.

So fly me far away,
On the strength of a gossamer wing,
The strength that lifts me today-
Still teaches me to sing…

Burdened wings unfettered,
Once silenced songs surround,
At last I feel my feet
Are coming off the ground…

For my moon bound friend~
By Sharon Frye