A shrouded man in his shredded cocoon
Is trying to extend his withered arms
And make them wings,
To fly his sorry self to the glowing moon.
He is falling through skies with a diminishing hope;
His mind an unreachable void,
His heart a blanket of fear
Clutching an untied rope.
And at the moment of glory, the man does try
To make his arms flutter rapidly,
And punish the air
In a feeble attempt to fly;
But no matter what he attempts to do,
The ground rapidly presents itself--
Though it had always been there
And the man's distant wish doesn't come true.
He hits the ground with tremendous force,
And in the second that he dies,
He acknowledges reality...
And sees his mistake in an instant of remorse.
By: E. Shaun Russell
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~~~:~~~> E. ternity E. Shaun Russell
:~~> E. xpansion e_shaun@uniserve.com
:~~~> E. xtropy Extropian poet\musician,
Transhumanities editor for
"It has teeth, art, and a way of cutting Homo Excelsior Magazine
through to the soft parts untried" http://www.excelsior.org
-Jeanette Winterson
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