Pick Your Poison

Γκρεμό του γίνει

I've been waiting to soar all along
but have yet to take off.
Grounded still in this blanketing realm,
my wings shake off
the tiny beads of sweat
that pull the cold from the wind.
The river Styx bleeds on for miles
before my quivering claws.

I will leave here some day;
to take flight for the first time,
soaring restlessly away
into new potentials
of peril and delight.

Breathing in the Stygian vapors
of this dark flow,
I remain confused.
Without memory to cohere my sight
to circumstance,
what understanding might inform
the journey ahead?

Alone and consumed with the impulse to launch,
my beak gnashes nervously.
No self, no reason for such desires,
it feels as though I've been tensing for flight
for an open infinity.

I want to know
what I am.


I've been waiting to soar all along
but have yet to take off.