Title is in the post

A poem

Flight as Owls fly when the sun rises.

            Maybe; The City loves Me.

 

Night city.

So beautiful.

All splendor and all spread out for you as �"

- You stand up high upon the world on the roof top. Towers above them all on the condo roof.

Staring.

As you ponder.

As you wonder.

Below the people in the streets being loud and -

- Being themselves. Some laughing. Some closed in like coffins arms wrapped about themselves. Some just walking home. Some wanting. Some do not want. But all the people walking the lighted City so busy.

- Some only walk for the sake of walking.

And you ponder watching them as they walk about like ants from your perch on the top-top of the condo unit built so high into the sky. Feel the wind as it brushes the hairs on your arms and moves the hair on your head. Feel the urge to fly as all the world shows you the giant things that man has made as you look out at the false night sky from the lights of the night City.

Eye. Blink. Eye more. Blink more.

The pretty world of artificial lights. The world of Man and all that is so wonderful.

Smile. Look. And smile larger. I can fly.

The gorgeous world that was made by man laid out below. This night City that is filled with noise and happy and unhappy people that do not have wings.

They are not like you. They are not like you.

Beyond redemption is Babylon and Beyond are her lights and sparkles.

I can fly.

And you blink your eyes wondering if any of the ants can fly.

If given wings would they even try, think. Blink and look as you smile at them walking happy and unhappy. And some just walking for the sake of walking.

And you look at the city of pretty lights as the sun begins to rise.

The soft morning sun shows the truth of the night City lights and you see beauty in a new way. As the light of the sun reflects off the glass and steel and shines to your eyes only on the top of the condo unit, built so high in the sky.

Your arms spread wide as you know you can fly. You smile understanding truth. The wind touches your arm hair and they are feather and it touches your head hair and they are your proud crown of plumage.

And without looking down at the ants you take flight like the Night Owl for one last flight at the dawn before going home to roost.  

The morning sun shows you shadow as you fly to the streets below to scare all the little ants.

You are the Owl going home to roost.