The Consequences of Flying

Consequences

never mattered.

We never sought the end result;

just pain,

for the sake of pleasure.

Damn tomorrow,

we were impervious.

 

We were wrong,

of course;

as we all are in our afflictions.

We beg the sky for wings

until we fall,

and then we cease

to even climb the trees,

for fear of consequences.

 

Brittle bones

breed bitter hearts,

and many are the eye

that turns to what the other has,

and says,

“By what fraud is this gain?”

In dark nights

eclipsed by ego’s wrath,

they clip their lover’s wings

and say,

“There ought to be consequences.”

 

There always have been,

and they never go unpaid.

The upright know,

it is only a matter of cost,

prepared for,

by the burning

of a misspent youth.

Years,

traded for momentary distractions.

Simple pleasures.

Flights of fancy.

Wars;

and battles fought

for reasons no one understands.

Not even us.

 

So,

do not speak of consequences,

unless you’re prepared to pay them.

Those of us

with a belly full of regret,

still seek the high places;

for we have fashioned wings

of every broken bone,

every drop of blood,

every lie told,

and every promise unfulfilled.

 

We still fly,

and we know,

there will be consequences.

 

 

HG – 2020

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