Viewed through the eye of the telescope I remember the creature whose wings made me. The Lady of Peace Blessed Above, the angel of harmony. To the sound of birdsong I was born, in a time of great joy and celebration. Fashioned and forged I appeared from the melting pot into my mothers' arms. Slowly buds emerged from my shoulder blades forming wings in the likeness of my mothers. Soon, I too, was able to reveal the wonder of flight.
On a luckless day curiosity overcame me. I
snatched the telescope when no-one was looking. Dots of world rushed
towards me, closer and more fascinating than I could have imagined.
Forbidden from entering the crust of the earth I yearned for it with the
simplicity of unknowing desire.
One day I saw my mother send the
birds down the telescope, on her divine command. Hidden I waited until
they returned cooing harmony and health.
Driven mad by my green
desire I followed their path down the telescope to the land below. The
divine right of kings did not equal my enjoyment of earthly pleasures.
Time concertina-ed and I forgot everything.
At first my mother
cried for my loss. When she realised she could not retrieve me she raged
war through the skies and lands. An unending battle with no winner. In
desperation she appealed to the Holy Trinity of Everlasting Worship as a
supplicant with folded hands. 'No and no again! You must live with your
creation,' they replied. Distraught her tears overflowed threatening to
drown the earth below. Waterlogged my wings grew heavy and land bound. A
flash of lightening sundered them. A wing fell from me and was forged
into a necklace. A consolation prize for my mother. I hide my other
wing, my lost half, from the world and wander aimlessly. I am stuck,
half made eternally searching.
I am grown tired of earth's offerings. I roam, I wander, agitated. It is no longer divine, darling.
The copyright of this post belongs to Moira Cormack