Feathered Serpent

  

Bite my tongue;

let it spit no venom.

Toxic doesn’t need my poison,

it is no threat to me.

 

Turns out a lifetime of exposure

lends one some kind of immunity

to petty things from petty people.

 

Spread my wings

and they gape at me,

ask me why I do not crawl.

I look at them,

like children,

without scorn, or judgement.

 

I have fangs,

if I need them.

Instincts sharp,

and armor scales,

but my mind is my greatest weapon,

and my heart is my ally.

 

Mercy given,

is mercy taken.

I have known the lower roads

and climbed mountains on my belly,

long before I learned to soar.

 

In the sky,

the clouds around me,

not under the heel,

or in the long grass.

I remember my beginnings,

and the vain effort

of lashing out.

 

Forgiveness is indeed

a Holy Virtue.

I know this

more than most.

 

 

HG – 2021

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