The Fallen - Poem by Joseph Wilford
From where I sit I can see planes taking off
Noses to the sky, bellies slanting upward, wings like a frown
Every time one goes, I silently wish I was on it.
So many places, opportunities, adventures
Out there, far away.
Beyond this desk.
It happens when time becomes an enemy.
It gets away from us.
You can keep chasing it
For the end of it.
I can’t slow down now.
Things are just coming into focus.
And I would miss
the silent thrill
Of the unknown.
The tiny wheels and cogs
Of this magnificent machine
The iridescence of a bluebird’s feathers
Nectar of peaches; German beer
Smell of diesel
Roaring of subway cars and water over rocks
The unexpected touch of a lover’s hand in the dark.
Yes there are lies and heartbreak
Suffering and loss
Wounds slow to heal
Countless years wasted with guilt, anger, resentment and sorrow
Toiling about in the killing of time to get to the good parts
if only for a moment.
I have no regrets.
Each mistake is a lesson.
I’m due some learning
Dreams and aspirations like glass
But they still shimmer and sparkle
Even with our blood on them
And there are
still possibilities in the fallen.
Each shard a crystal
A new beginning
The sharpest of these cut the deepest
But it’s a reminder
the stuff of our insides
Is oil on the gears and the wheels
And they just keep spinning and spinning and spinning.
The hardest part is sitting still.
The hardest part is getting on the move.
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