High Fly

By Andrew R. Duckworth

Some were running
As if there was fire upon their feet,
Going from one thing to the next,
From the nest to the open sky
And they subdued it,
Made that domain their own.

Some were chased
By the cheetah,
Somehow moving legs
Fast enough to evade
Snapping jaws,
And settled for the highlands.

Some stepped slowly
Across the swamp,
Barely escaping the mouth
Of the crocodile,
But were cornered in a cave
By the woken bear.

Some never left,
Finding the nest
Quite comfortable.
But, as they grew large,
The nest collapsed
Under the weight of wait.

Some found it suitable
To forego their dreams
Or never dream at all-
Too drunk in the stupor
Of convenience
To ever be aware of the nest
Or the sky
Or the dreamers flying by.

But now, the axe has come
To deliver blows to the trunk
And those still drunk
Will fall from heights
Unprepared for the wing
To meet the air.
No one will notice them,
All eyes fixed on the flight
Of a fanciful bird
Who dreamed, Who dared
To soar the sky.

I pray that you earn
Wings to fly.
I pray you dream
Of soaring high.
I pray you escape
Clutching jaws
And you don’t let life
Pass you by.