<p>Today is definitely a day for flying things.
</p><p>That's the only explanation as to why my street is littered with wings.
</p><p>Large and smooth, like from butterflies,
</p><p>Only I know these are no butterflies.
</p><p>They are vicious minstrels.</p><p><br></p><p>Their big bodies hanging from thin layers of dry dust,
</p><p>Flapping and clapping to their own private song.
</p><p>They whiz past my drums in a blur
</p><p>The only sign of their departure is the sound of their waving wings as they bumble along.
</p><p><br></p><p>...and there were dead wings all over,
</p><p>As far as the eyes could see, dancing in car headlights.
</p><p>A large pair sauntered over to me and settled on my neck.
</p><p>Like hates first kiss, with all its dirt and grime.
</p><p><br></p><p>Reflex had me jumping out of the daze and rolling downhill.
</p><p>There was no pretense.
</p><p>everything it came from and it's very guts made my throat boil.
</p><p><br></p><p>In sullen distaste, I ran all the way home and scrubbed my skin free of the gritty murk of insect dust.
</p><p>The thought of it kept me up most of the night.
</p><p>Inspecting every inch, every hour, was my mime.
</p><p>Although I kept to the time tellers chime,
</p><p>I fought to be rid of it with all my might.
</p><p><br></p><p>In my wary flight from the little creatures,</p><p>I could not outrun their lingering,<br></p><p>It was not the grime nor the niggling drip of their savage, but something else,<br></p><p>A budding rhythm, a sense of fear, not my own,<br></p><p>That crawled beneath my skin like scurrying ants.<br></p><p>It whispered of woes from legions,<br></p><p>Of drones and dragons – winged things too.<br></p><p><br></p><p>Yes, I’d love to see me surrounded by nature.
</p><p>Layer by layer, as i see me mature.
</p><p>I commune with the ocean and even with the trees,</p><p>Even in twilight, in the silence of the night, I see those reels.</p><p><img src="/media/inline_insight_image/LWT 1.jpeg"><br></p><p>I dreamt that night of little fluttering angels,
</p><p>Not just their wings, but their shadows too.
</p><p>They danced in my light, danced around my head,</p><p>In waves of motion, they swooned and they swooped,
</p><p>All my little spaces were brushed by their wings
</p><p>They touched everywhere, buzzing, yet silent,
</p><p>Filling the air around them with eerie, yet peaceful sounds.</p><p><br></p><p>Suddenly, the night was over, dawn came too soon,
</p><p>I stepped into the chaos of my world, but that too felt different
</p><p>Of course, I had been touched by the good winged people.
</p><p>The air was lighter and full of meaning,
</p><p>The trees greener, every leaf fluttering like the wings I tried to forget.</p><p><br></p><p>As I stood taller, I began to wonder,
</p><p>Had I misunderstood them all this time?
</p><p>These sullen creatures of nude dust and quiet song
</p><p>Perhaps, not all of them kiss to burn.
</p><p>Mayhap, their grime must not always repel, but remind,
</p><p>Their nature is sometimes dredged, not always refined,
</p><p>Still, it is never empty of reason.
</p><p><img src="/media/inline_insight_image/Last winged thing.jpeg" alt=""><br></p><p>So, I let my mind calm and gave controls to the wind,
</p><p>This time, when the wings came, I only beheld fragile beauty.
</p><p>Then I found my slice of peace.
</p><p>All this time, the truth was hidden beneath the dust.
</p><p>“Model Kind acceptance to find your wings, then fly”.
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Little Winged things
By
Chidera Odom