Archive
11/11/09 - (2)
Low-Flying Angels
Low-flying angels, disguised as malevolent nightmares, Remind me that I'm susceptible To depredations of the mind, instigated by depression,
Ravages to my psyche's most vulnerable privacies, Those regions located behind my dreams, Which, once violated, frighten nightmares themselves.
If only those angels would metamorphose into butterflies — Something capable of erasing aging's chimeras, Making me believe I'm no older than I was as a boy,
Persuading me that, at sixty-eight, I can yet be a tamer of lions, Mount Everests, deep seas, A prospector who sieves stars, from the sky's sluices —
I'd be able to ride between their fluttering wings, Soar on thermals rising from my anxieties, And see over the horizon, to the beginning of my life.
11/11/09 - (2)
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