egg

Feathers fly unfettered by the tethers kites are linked with,
Levered high by restless sighs of weather, rising wingless.

Let me go to fields known for breeze-blown wheatgrasses,
Where streams flow down green slopes like clear, cold molasses
And bees toast the sweet rose with pirouette passes
Beneath oaks that each stroke the heat's glow with blackness.
I'll wander there upon that merry lawn of man's creation
While drawing air beyond the glare of jobs and expectations.
Let me fly from cheap ties and weektime sleep schedules,
From deeds I can't rewind and grief I can't settle,
And please try to see why I sneak by these devils:
Between lies and weeds hides my fleet mind and mettle.

Wetter skies upset the heights of feathers climbing stringless,
Which then alight on ebbing tides, surrender flight, and sink in.

----------------------------------

It's the first draft, but I'm still proud of it -- the first sonnet I've written in about six months.