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A Prayer for Wings
to become the highest form of art
I wished for an angel in my dreams
heavenly and unburdened,
free from the grievances that bound this human soul.
In the stillness, I called upon beauty,
yearning for it to bloom within me,
to become the highest form of art —
graceful as the silver moon, unshaken like a rolling stone.
I sought elegance that drifts like a river of light,
a presence that moves without weight,
leaving only wonder in its wake.
An art that could lift me beyond the hands of time,
beyond the noise of people and meaningless opulence.
For I have seen
those who chase gold like moths to a dying flame,
filling their emptiness with treasures and forgetting their names.
They drape themselves in silk and call it purpose,
their eyes gleaming with the hunger of never having enough.
But I crave no crown…
