Weaving Feathers

Anticlimactic,

I’m weaving feathers 

for flight 

one day.

Each day,

like today,

irrationally

encircling 

desserted lands,

for the plans,

have fled,

away.

My mind’s 

astray,

sunken

deep through 

hypnotic trances.

I’m searching

for my world,

in this empty one,

but my eyes

have waned 

and opportunity

trekked ahead.

A soul 

much wiser than I,

still mine,

knows

flight 

should have happened

by now,

though I’m still weaving feathers,

cause it’s all I know how.