The Whimsy of A Man

I am a man,
a mortal man,
without wings nor the gifts of flight,
with two feet firmly planted on mortal grounds.

But my dreams,
my mortal visions,
doth conceive to wonder,
of heaven and the lands beyond.

even those who crawl,
lift their heads now and then,
that is when most will catch a glimmer,
of the lovely flights of angels and the graces of celestial lands.

oh the pain!
out of mortal reach,
but close enough in wishful visions,
the curse of mortals living under heaven's celestial majesty.

a refrain,
upon a fool's tale,
a telling of mortal dreams,
the many efforts doomed to certainly fail.

you can jump,
all that you want,
but no one has ever broken the back of gravity,
nor propelled to the heavens upon the jumps of mortal feet.

you can fly,
on borrowed wings like Icarus,
made of feathers and quick dry glue,
but soar as you will towards heaven's sight,
the sun's heat will soon your hopes do melt.

you can climb,
on moonbeam ropes,
or the silken rays of mighty sun,
but comes the ending of day or night,
will you fall the long long way down.

how then can a man,
follow the wake of his one true angel,
chasing after that lovely seraph that he saw for only once,
how can a man reach heaven and the lands beyond,
to catch his one chance at romance.

the whimsy of a man,
of a heart captured by an angel divine,
of a path restricted by unmoving destiny and uncaring chance,
pondering upon his fate and dreaming of better things,
that might never come.

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