the carapace of an angel

The Carapace of An Angel 

I wait like a bird waits for Spring.

I wait for wings not made of ice or steel,

Ones that can carry me on the winds.

I wait like a tree in Winter,

Waiting to come alive with leaves and flowers.

Like a Cicada, that goes into suspended animation,

and re-awakens every seventeen years.

I wait like a caterpillar waiting for the next phase in it's existence.

Like a body desperate to shed it'self.

My body is a rock that holds me down.

My heart is a river that flows out.

I wait for wings.

I wait to taste the breath of Heaven on my lips.

Reviews

[Thomas W Case]

Waits like that sting deep, but you don’t just sit—you feel it, let it cut and flow. Wings aren’t given, they’re earned in the ache of waiting.

[Betty Hermelee]

This is a wonderful juxtaposition of a beginning and an end waiting to come... i love the mix with nature and how bare it all is...and so are you... all is waiting for an event to come....nature must bloom again you you (I believe) are waiting for heaven to take you there.... excellent writing ...allusions to so many interesting creatures...love the last line...heartfelt!
Warmly, B

[Wesley Dingler]

This is a truly compelling line of thought. I could write more here, but I think I would rather save that and tell you in person.
Nevertheless, this is one of the best poems I have read here in weeks.
It was truly touching to me.

[emmajoygreen]

Waiting to be an angel in your beautifully laid words is a tribute to and for your life in the 'all about'.
Moving on is something to be faced; to know how gentle and peaceful it is up there can dilute one's fears and doubts about the 'future'.

Helpful inspiration truly can help to cross the river and - safely reach the other side.

Many thanks for sharing..

[Light and ashes]

thank you .