Standing in the snow,
all i can see is the dove.
Fragile wings,
afraid to fly
like snow to the gray ground.
I imagine this lack of color-
this is my lack to see the red
that circles through every person
decorating the world with heavy hate,
but also with a terifying passion
that could leave you with empty hands.
Perhaps that is why she does not fly?
Is her body too burdened with what Is inside of her
to lift up into sky?
Perhaps she is just as white as the snow
for a reason,
so she can fall instead of rise?
Perhaps this goes deeper than a mere analogy,
perhaps deeper than a thought.
Or, it can be a shallow
as an idea of
"this is simply what this is".
I do not know the answers,
I just know what I see.
Why was this creature given wings?
What cruel god would give her the chance
to witness the beauty of freedom
just within her reach
but instill within in her the fear of failing,
the fear of the fall
and the sky.
I see how fragile the balance is,
being like so many others,
gifted and so different,
but too terrified to fly.
