PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

She had the great arcs of the upper sky
within her eager, adolescent reach.
She knew the songs the night wind often sings
and how it stiirred her very human soul
(although her body is a humanoid's;
not some brute animal's or bright android's).
All her emotions are, deeply, humane:
the joys we share, her sorrow for my pain,
her horror at the wreckage of my ship
(crashed here, most likely thought lost from the fleet;
no rescue sought---this place is beautiful,
like her).  How easily she could just slip
away, to soar without me, to attain
those heights again.  But no:  with folded wings,
she stumbles on unsteady, tan bare feet
across the crimson sand of this vast beach---
with me---a wingless thing that cannot fly.