Friday, 14 August 2015

white moths

suddenly my arms do not want to lift
they refuse to wave to anyone
they refuse to raise in joyful salute
they refuse to swing in dance

my joy
my movements
my freedom
cocooned in the pits of my arms

yet i never forget the feeling
of flying with arms open wide
i can and will not forget
because the wings,
though now willfully immobilised,
will never stop rustling, budding, throbbing,
tingling, pulsing, 
quivering in anticipation to
spread   open     in       flight   

one day my arms will rise again
and the white moths

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