Litkicks Message Board Archive

Wingèd victory

Posted to Action Poetry

wingèd victory comes,
within an acidic storm,
but this victory does not feel warm.

i'm not afraid of screaming,
freedom pressed to my flesh,
nurtured, will not grow less.

standing still, bruised,
by the speed of it,
turbulant hits.

creating with a thought,
this nightmare becomes lucid,
empty jar, missing its lid.