Poetry, Short Poem

The Open Sky

I wish I could capture the wild beauty
of the open sky with pastels and paint.
My mind a bare canvas
hungry for the wispy mists of dawn,
the unapologetic beaming rays of midday,
the fluttering skirts of dusk: indigo, red,
the faint traces of pink ,
and the still, cruelty of night.
My obsession with the open sky
must be foretelling;
maybe I was meant to posses wings instead
of leaden limbs that bind me to a fate
foretold eons ago.

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