Did my
angel get feet of clay
plodding
through an unacknowledged life?
Sometimes
filled with tedium,
occasionally
filled with strife?
Ditch the
myth and boulder, dear Sisyphus,
This
labour is not worth your while;
Strap on
the wings of Daedalus
escape
from lassitude in style.
Lil'
angel, that's what you called me;
and this
part am I willing to play --
But I am
merely a fitful poet caught,
trapped,
captured, held at bay
in the
branches of this world of words
cornered,
ambushed, as those flightless birds.
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