So delicate
angled between
pale, laden shoulders.
Created from
tear-stained glass
more valuable to her than
Tiffany.
Years of flight-ed fancy
invested into
fluttering bits of hope.
Tiny crackles appear over time
from flying too close to the sun-
Yes, she's been burned
wing-tipped singe
mars the beauty
of such Heavenly perfection.
Crystal panes of
crystallized pains
that never quite took her
where she was headed.
Detoured by life
flying the wrong way
she never saw
the looming window-
she thought it was
always open...
She still can hear
the tinkling in her ears
as everything closed in
around her world.
Like frozen lily petals
in a late April snow-
her wings have shattered...
...she'll fly no more.