I WAS BORN WITH WINGS

I Was Born With Wings

I was born with wings that were clipped from my young shoulders

After running wild and free on this grim earth

After two or three years of flying and living

Innocent and unconcerned with terrestial things and human pain

The loss of my wings brought me anguish

And sorrow and heartache and terror

That would shadow me the rest of my life

And never let me know that taste of freedom again

Feet cannot be compared to wings

Feet can only run, they cannot soar

They cannot take you high above the clouds

Of despair and over and beyond the awful things

That wait in darkness to grasp your soul

Feet cannot outrun the thing that runs behind you

Or crawls below you or slinks in front of you

But wings! Wings can lift you up and away

To heights untouched by life's tragedies and hell's demons

Wingless now, I can only run and run and run

Run toward Heaven, where I've been told 

My wings are waiting for me.

©by Voo

Feb 12, 2005 

2:30 p.m.

WINGLESS HORSES

wingless horses

and we were like wingless horses

running across the sky

pounding hooves like rolling thunder

fleeing from the clouds that cry

you and I, so much in love

you and I, so much in hate

you and I, too young to carry

all that worry, woe and weight

we didn’t know what we didn’t know

we didn’t see what we couldn’t see

our hearts would look for hidden treasures

found only inside you and me

days when love would pass like strangers

nights when dreams would burn to ash

weeks when life would slice our fingers

as it hurried by so fast

and then it slowed and then it stopped

and then it drowned in pouring rain

and then it died of great neglect

and then it came to life again

great breaking hearts inside our breasts

grew stronger with each pain and tear

no separation put asunder

the union of our love and fear

you and I, we fought like lions

you and I, we sang like birds

you and I, we killed each other

with our passion and our words

but we rose up like wingless horses

that didn’t know they couldn’t fly

and raced the winds that blew against us

let them raise us up so high

until we reached the pinnacle

until we left the lowest depths

leaving madness far behind us

and sang to love with our last breaths.

©by Voo

Aug 6, 2012

2:00 a.m.

THE TRUNK

The Trunk

Unbuttoned buttons
Falling out of an old trunk
Stuffed with mildewed lace
And blue ribbons barely
Holding together ancient love letters
Browned with age and turning to dust
At a touch.
There, a faded photograph lies
'Neath cobwebby frames and old air
Remnants of a life long dead,
A love still living in a distant past.
I hear the sweetness of a tiny bit of violin,
Muffled girlish laughter,
Shoes with elaborate bows dancing dainty steps
As the face in the photograph looks down
From his towering height into shining blue eyes.
A pocket watch with exquisite chain of gold
A lock of auburn hair inside a locket
A pressed flower so old, I cannot tell what it had been
A book of Keats, it's sanctuary........
And a prayer book with a scribbled prayer in spidery hand
"Please, please, please, dear Lord
Let this be the night he asks me!"
Underneath a wedding veil, a Bible with crumbling cover
Inside, the marriage recorded for all the world to see
Oh, happy, happy day! She has written in bold letters
And I feel the joy and smile at her rejoicing.
In a brocaded box, a baby's tooth, a curl tied with thread
A christening dress, what used to be a doll
With reverent hands I pull the items towards me
Breathe in the musty memories they eminate
And gently place them back inside the trunk.
In the corner, stuck inside a seam, I see a picture
Creased and faded almost into non existence
The woman's blue eyes, still shining, still full of love
Sitting in a rocking chair, holding a doll 
As though it was her sole salvation.
No gown of yellow adorned her frame
And I could not hear the violin's tender trill
But I knew that it was her
And for a moment, it flashed into my mind
That she could see me seeing her
See me holding the remnants of her life
Celebrating her little victories
And great, great losses
Now silently announced by the ugly black dress
And by an unspeakable sorrow on a yet young face.
"I'm so sorry." I whisper 
And close the trunk in slow retreat
Passing an ancient mirror standing like a portal
To another world in that dusty, forgotten attic,
I catch a glimpse of my own face surrounded by untidy curls
With similar eyes and inherited sadnesses
It is her face there staring back at me
"It is our face." I think and touch my rounded belly
With a new mother's hands
Perhaps, it'll be her face, too. And I'll bring her here
To see where she came from, how strong the genes imparted
How thick the blood, how deep the love that survives the sorrow
Down through the ages 
And imprinted on the cherished things she touched
Almost disintegrated now
But living still
Inside that dusty trunk.


by Voo
© May 14, 07 3 p.m.