There are tales I would love to tell,
Heights from which I would love to scream from;
Each day, the sun rises from behind the hill
I long to climb, whose top towers far above
The valley in which I crawl, with a bed of moss
For comfort at night. Every evening I watch the sun
Make its way behind the hill and I think of creatures
Created for flight – with hollow bones and broad
Chests – with eyes of the eagle, and who know
The name of the wind.
I am a creature of the land, crawling on my belly
Eating sand, snaking through the undergrowth
Of life, feasting on insects – they fly no more than
The height of my tongue and I delight in conquering
These creatures of flight – disdaining their lack of ambition.
If I could fly, I would become one with the clouds
And share in the tales of birds: of the blanket of the
Ocean, and the cotton clouds; I would tell tales
Of the songs of the wind, and of the fellowship of the sun.
These tales haunt my dreams: tales of fallen glory,
And a once-upon-a-time beauty;
Ancient tales of plunder that clog
Arteries and fill the heart with black bile;
Tales of dirges and defeat;
Melodies of tears, words
Laced with venoms;
Lancing tongues, forked and sticky…
These are tales I would love to tell
With a new twist at the ending.