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As a kid, days are always bright and happy, full of adventures and places to discover. Every new thing was exciting; finding colorful leaves, new bugs, and creative ways to build with mud. The eyes of a child are always bright with wonder and amazement at every new thing. I’m sure most people can relate to the wonder and innocence of childhood.
Every child has a drive to explore and learn about the world around them, a yearning for something new. One way I see childhood is that children have wings like an angel, pure and unfettered. This is something I CAN see, the wings of others. The wings of children are my favorite and the purest of all.
Wings that are feathery plumes of white that would grow with the child. I would see some that were too big or too small for people and yet size did not matter. It would not hinder them or cause them trouble and be a perfect fit as they grew. For reasons unknown, I am the only one who can see their beauty and yet I cannot see my own. Although I cannot explain it, it is not a figment of my mind nor something pretended. I can see wings just as you could see a car on the road, they are real to me.
As friends grew up I discovered that the wings of those I cared about were losing their luster. Their wings would lose their shine and would slowly become gray, some even began to lose feathers. At first I had thought it came with age but over time wings would start turning gray at younger and younger ages.
At adulthood I began to discover people who had lost their wings. They had become more shadowed, with eyes that no longer would light up at the smallest joy. Some would have scars from their lost wings as if torn or shredded from their back. Others had the frame of their wings but the feathers were replaced with ash.
It wasn’t till some time had passed that I began to realize why I could see the wings of others but not my own. Once I had that realization I began my journey of collecting feathers, crying for lost hope. That day my dream for a world of joy and love died. It was replaced by the knowledge of stolen innocence, imagination lost, and suffering.
In a world of darkness, I’m surrounded by souls seeking redemption, swamped by temptations.
For I am a ghost who’s chance at life was stolen from me.
I’m an angel with no wings.