If no one on the ground or ocean
was injured when he turned to a noun
what was the loss? His wings were waxen.
He should have known the risk but wanted
always to be a verb: pure motion,
wind on his chest as none could have known,
distance and gravity forsaken.
Simply to be a verb he mounted
higher above the sea, the warming
sun on his back a false homecoming.
Truth was a disappointment. Even
imagination failed to keep him.
YOU MIGHT ALSO LIKE
How Science Trumped Materialism (ft. Michel-Yves Bolloré)
In the latest installment of the ongoing interview series with contributing editor Mark Bauerlein, Michel-Yves Bolloré joins…
A Tale of Two Maybes
"Who knows, God may yet repent and turn from his fierce anger, so that we perish not”…
Christmas Nationalism
Writing for UnHerd, Felix Pope reported on a December 13 Christmas celebration organized by the English nationalist…
