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Who has not climbed a mountain to discover

how small all below? That which flies belittles

our earth-bound selves. Donning capes we

ape the birds and climb trees to find a breeze

that lifts our spirits above the clouds that

shroud our days in a haze of normality. It’s

because we have no wings that we sing of

things above the sky, broadcasting the myth

that our spirits are up there somewhere,

that no affliction is too great to overcome

and someday we will understand why:

But to win the gold, we have to die.

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Aug 14, 2023

It's good to have your poetry back, Glen - this is a lovely one! Thank you.


Awesome...your language soars as well as your spirit! A wonderful treat to have your poems back, Glen.

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