The feathers would flutter in the wind like and angels.
The wings would lift me off this Hell they call Earth.
And Bring me to the sky...
Let me glide high above the others.
I'd be beautiful.
I'd be a miracle.
My wings soft as satin
Soft as velvet.
I'd fly from coast to coast
Pole to Pole.
Nothing would stop me
not even the winds of Chicago.
Not even the missiles in the places of war.
I'd never stop
Just to get away from everyone else.
Adrenaline, oh the adrenaline rushing through my veins.
It's not from trouble
it’s from the wind furling the feathers.
I open my eyes to the nasal ring of an alarm clock.
And oh how I wish it was from the wind flowing through my fiery red hair
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Comments about this poem (Flying by sare gibbs )
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi
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(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
(6 January 1878 – 22 July 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
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