My parents bunted me
from their tree
without teaching me
properly
So, I wrap these cumbersome
wings about
and tremble, wallow, and
frequently shout
to other birds above
who apparently knew
exactly how to fly,
then flew
Is there a hope?
Is there a way that I might
free myself today?
Look up and learn
and mimic they who flap
their wings and
graceful sway
I learned through suffering
falls and fits
to lift above the earthly pits
And one day joined the birds
so high who had learned
easily how to fly
And as we flew, I felt the same
cause many, too, had learned
fom pain
Our discontent of standing still
helped us to make potential real
Victoria Lynn
I found this poem I had written many years ago and it surprised me. Certainly, it does not represent correctly written prose, and rhyming poems aren’t my favorite. Nevertheless, it intrigued me to have captured some of my emotions of that time in my history. There are times when I really take off and fly high into the sky—above earthly challenging complications.
With music strains blaring, I am compelled to dance wildly, swinging around furniture and fairly leaping with delight.
Jumping on the trampoline—well, not so high, but still, feeling the exhilaration of movement is one of my treasured routines, especially when the sun is setting or the heavenly stars are blinking at me.
My well-intended mother caught me dancing wildly in my new student nursing outfit while singing, “I’m going to be a nurse. I’m going to be a nurse!” Her practical response was, “Get off your high horse.”
My son reminded me after hearing this, “And you never did, did you, Mom?”
“Nope”
