Lifetimes longer
than the age of stone,
even from sea’s beginning,
I counsel with tides,
trace runes on the sky,
call ravens to my soul.
Carry me down
to the darkest waters,
lift me up to azure heights,
I am a man of mortal terror,
a wingless angel
who will one day fly.
Reading of “Wingless Angel”
These last three lines are beauts ~
Don — Beautiful poem this morning. Thanks for sharing. We are all “wingless angels,” waiting to really. Those brief, mortal flights we’ve experienced just whet our spiritual appetite.
By definition, ‘wingless angels’ are Angels still. And growing wings, I’ve seen over time, is a cardinal part of the uplifting journey that Life on Earth (day by day, ‘feather’ upon metaphorical feather) offers You, me, and all Angels who choose to vest themselves in human form. And what an amazing time This is to do so! All the while, it’s a high honor to take flight with You Here and Now! Huzzah!