The Deviance of Wings

To fly is to be free – the realization of a God-head, a veritable state of being higher than that of your fellow man; yet still within this act sits a certain calamity. The deviance of wings lies in the wrecking of the dreams, the stagnation of the imagination, goals and aspirations; for the man with the capacity to fly ceases to hang on to hope, and with this dies all anticipation for the future. His incapacity to fantasize and visualize is bred from a familiarity with his gift and an acute distain for those confined to the dirt and to the ground. Those without this gift are forced to blind themselves to their situation and grasp at something greater than themselves. In truth, all eyes remain fixed on the sky when ones arms don’t bequeath them the ability to sleep upon stars. Therefore hope becomes a daily tonic, the opiate for the self described ill. But wondrous is the day when, after all the toil and turmoil, limbs fatefully sprout feathers and penance is rewarded with flight. Much greater is he borne with the passion to do so than he blessed with the ability.