The notion of escape, both physical and emotional, seems to crop up again and again in my writing and I'll admit that there's something intoxicating about it.
The poem below, Maiden Flight, is a bit of lighthearted fun, hence the strap-line. Gravity, after all, is seriously overrated.
Back in April, I published Rapture, loosely based on the prediction found in the Book of Thessalonians, that believers will be whisked away at the end of days to meet with their Redeemer in the skies.
This image would have been an appropriate illustration for that poem, but will serve perfectly well for this one instead.
Empty shoes left on the pavement,
in a shimmering hiatus,
liberated, floating, weightless,
free from gravity's enslavement,
she looks down, her winged heart leaping
at the sight of cars and people,
chimney-pots and chapel steeple,
and the snail of traffic creeping.
Strong her wings feel, air uplifting,
slight her body, breathless, easeful,
far above a fog of diesel,
on warm currents, lifting, drifting.
Empty shoes left on the pavement.
Time stands still. She climbs forever,
wafted like a wind-blown feather,
free from gravity’s enslavement.