Summer sand means he can fly
Absent wings hinder not
And helpless gravity
Cannot restrain imagining
Dragon clouds are stepping stones
Leading to the stars
Where pirates sail ocean stars
In galleons made of dreams
While scurvy dogs, or friends perhaps,
Cheer on his victories.
Weight and counterweight
Momentum for his thoughts
Launch reason from its stodgy shelf.
Old ones say that he can’t
Denying dragons do exist
Demanding homage paid to ‘truth.’
For all their ‘no, you can’t’
Still his feet push back the sky.

About suzanawylie

Suzana Wylie is the not-very-pseudo pseudonym of Susan Wylie Wilson, because let's face it, there are lots of Susan Wilsons around, and as an author, I want readers to find ME and not the bazillions of others. I've been writing all my life - since I learned to hold a pencil anyway - and can't NOT write. Other people have to breathe to live; I have to write.
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