My legs are not my legs, they are my wings
The power of my horizontal flights
Although it’s true that birds are graceful things
They watch me run from simple jealous heights
My legs are not my legs, they are my wings
They split the rushing chaos of the wind
I love the sound it makes when chaos sings
A sound not even order can rescind
It’s true my feet are cadenced on the ground
It rises like a challenge to my pace
But quicker than they fall, my feet rebound
And like a wingtip, barely leave a trace
For gravity and I have drawn a truce,
And though it holds, I feel it breaking loose.
Rewrite of the following sonnet
My legs are not my legs, they are my wings,
The power of my horizontal flights
Above the pavement clouds. Such graceful things
As birds look down from simple jealous heights.
My legs are not my legs, they are my wings,
They split the rushing chaos of the wind
And push it side to side. Such striding flings
The eddied air awash and far behind.
It’s true my feet are cadenced on the ground
Which rises like a challenge to the pace.
But quicker than they fall, my feet rebound,
And like a wingtip, barely leave a trace.
For gravity and I have drawn a truce,
And though it holds, I feel it breaking loose.