PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

He had the great arcs of the upper sky

within his eager, adolescent reach.

He knew the songs the night wind often sings

and how it stirred the homovatic soul

(his body, certainly a humanoid's;

and more attractive than the best androids').

All his emotions are, deeply, humane:

the joys we share, his sorrow for my pain,

his horror at the wreckage of my ship

(crashed here, missing in action from the fleet;

no rescue sought:  this world---too beautiful,

like him).  How easily he could just slip

away, to soar without me, to attain   

those heights once more, and there to arc and hover

in elegant excursions, high deploys

to this world's pastel sky---where purest joys

thrive (far from Terran-bound envies that rage

across that Earth, with no peace to assuage

those fierce graspers, who never will discover

spatial beauties).  But no:  with folded wings,

he stumbles on unsteady, small, bare feet

across magenta sands of this vast beach

with me---who (ugly, wingless) cannot fly. 

J-Called