wings

My mind is like the park carousel. Never stopping long enough to allow the children of my life to climb aboard. Too much school. Too much work. Too much thinking. Too much? When the vocab needs to run across my marathon mind, I close my eyes to the music. The pain and healing are wrapped up in the same parcel, the bright red bow and golden wrappings. Should it be kept, till Christmas morning? Where will I go? Do I catch this polar express to the middle of my new beginnings? When do I search? A poem, a verse, a prose? Three eggs, so carefully cared for, they hatched into swans. Does the story so, by necessity, include an ugly duckling? Will the lagging one, fluff up it's wings? It was born with wings. I found the ground, so hard before, now soft and avoided. Not to continue, this carpet needs these knees like these knees need His wings. So lift off, pilot of the parable, you've controlled these aluminum wings before. This time, you've seen the airstrip, you've seen the war. The altitude calls. A bell rings. An angel gets its wings.