Wanting Wings...

I always wanted wings.
A silly thought
I know.
But somewhere deep inside
I couldn't convince myself
To be rid of the
idea.

I want to stand on a hill
In the middle of Fall
When every color is
Lined in perfect gold
And raise my feathered wings
To a cloudless sky.

I want to drift, just barely
Beneath the stars,
Where each wing beat
Will cause moonbeams to
Flutter and scatter,
Laughing as if tickled.

I want to express myself
Through the set of my wings
Or the poise of my feathers
Without trying to convey
The importance of my meaning
Through unheard words.

I want to fly.
Pure and simple.
Gliding above trees,
And skimming over the mirrored
Surface of a summer lake,
Knowing that this is
True freedom.

I always wanted wings,
And I don't intend on
Giving up that wish,
Anytime soon.