The wingspan could not be matched.
Inside the resulting heat, spectacular images echoed.
Gorgeous lullabies emerge from sources less beautiful.
Heads bobbing,
Just above the waterline.
Walking through stories brings a skewed perspective to my waking reality.
Not knowing if the events revolve around factual encounters,
Or tales twisted by those without.
So it is goodbye.
Whirling over and under thoughts past the start.
Worlds that were created inside the pale trap,
Leave me cleaning up awkward feathers of growth.
Every moment that passes,
They soar from my pours.
(How does it feel to not know what you are missing?)
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