My Black Wings

by Ashea Goldson

I spread my wings to fly
but often wonder why
my black wings donít  soar 
anymore.

Used to float above the clouds
Like eagles in majestic shroud
Wrapped in honor
Colored with truth
And alive in spirit;
there was dignity in it

But my Black wings have been through the fire
Been singed, scorched
Even been clipped for the flight
Feathers plucked in desperate times
And used for covering
And whatís in me Ėsings

Not a love song but the blues
Cause oh, Iíve been used
Till my very soul has broken in two
And all thatís left
Are one and one

Too late for me to fly
Too late to even wonder why
my black wings donít soar 
anymore.


My Black Wings by Ashea Goldson

© Copyright 2015. All rights reserved. No portion of this work may be duplicated or copied without the expressed written consent of the author.



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