Growing wings

When we were small
tiny in a too large world
bits of fluff clinging like moss
to our new selves,
comparisons were often made as we stood
teeter tottering through the maze
of learning of our existence.
We were told someday
we would fly high if we tried
but to take our time
the world would wait and we needed to learn more,
follow more,
before we could be more.
I believed we could
be like those I saw on quiet summer mornings
meandering on breezes
lost in thought
cascading in endless flight-
and I was there too
in my mind,
the child’s eye sees so much more
than credit is ever given
from different perspectives,
small yet still
so very large in scope.
As our feathers grew,
we were trained in manners
and what was proper and what we couldn’t
shouldn’t do
and then we became dry,
our tiny feathers brittle with non use
and we hid in corners flapping them
wishing them to grow faster
to carry us away
where our dreams somehow lay
beyond the concrete and darkness
we knew there was light,
for we saw it in the eyes of others
the fine multi colored flocks who held laughter
and a shine in their eyes,
for they were taught
yet ignored the lesson,
instead jumping off ledges to strengthen
their wings and feathers full and beautiful to see.
We watched them in awe,
knowing there was a truth in there somewhere,
and knowing that what we were taught
had somehow turned into something so wrong,
that there was a world out there,
with many species of us,
shapes, colors and sizes
and so we stood on our shelf
and edged our toes to the limit
and closing our eyes falling forward
as the wind rushed into our faces
and we felt the fear of failure,
flapping our wings for a moment in desperation,
we saw that they had grown so long
the magic happened when we paid it no mind,
and we turned them this way and that
catching the breeze that carried us
through the window of perception and beyond,
we had found that in letting go,
we could soar.