A palm full of wings...

A palm-full of wings;
beautiful, fragile, little things...
dressed in white.  

 or maybe...

a handful of dreams?
-not yet flown
in the early light.

i wonder...

 what makes
these little things
fly?

are they shy?

or are they angry

at the one

who stole their light?

if one could hold stars...

would they be angry too?

-pulled down to earth
in the mud and the goo
 of human emotion.

if they are angry...

i don't want to know.
so i let them go,

wishing they would linger
on the tip of my finger...

as dreams sometimes do.

A palm full of wings...

beautiful, fragile, little things... 

dressed in white.