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The Wings of Ego
I saw her in her place in the sky,
her home of pretentious smiles,
of she devils who travel the azure skies,
a graceful flight of a graceful flier,
of beauty beyond beauty,
from lands far away from where I know,
in search of me in search of her,
her big eyes and colossal wings,
swooping down upon me,
me a poet with big eyes and little wit,
a gullible mind that lets everything in,
wrapping her wings around my torso
and taking me to the skies
and offering me a place in her domain
where master poets rule the heavens.
My head grew as large as the sun.
My feet suspended above the earth.
I rose up into the heavens and higher up.
I kept climbing until I hit
the outer limits of the universe,
as high as my mind could see,
the place where infinity ended,
where fools became fools,
then came crashing down to earth again.
I saw poetry as a story
that went on forever,
a poem without a ground,
a height without a ceiling,
a spirit without a body,
an ego without her meddling,
but with wings to find
my humble self.
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