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This is Swellow 's Poetrydex entry.

Clipped WingsEdit

I can't imagine how you live,
Down there, tied to the ground,
We fly so high that from the earth,
We cannot hear a single sound.

The air under our wings,
Carries us wherever we please.
In total and complete control,
Not like you, down on your knees,

Living, dying, overcrowded,
So much I can't stand to think.
So many down there, making more,
Your world will soon be at its brink.

For we are, masters of the sky,
Curtailing as light as the clouds,
Free to travel through the air,
High above your depressed crowds.

Our heights are limitless!
The sky is literally the limit!
We are free to fly as we like,
So long as we stay within it.

But of course, with this
Limitless of expanse to explore,
The limits of our own lifetimes,
Are spotlighted more and more.

For as free as we are today,
Tomorrow our corpses could,
Be prisons to a conscious soul,
This much is understood.

Our freedom is but temporary,
A slip that so rises fate's hackles,
It gives us seconds, relatively,
Before entombing us in its shackles.

Every limitless flight-
Must one day be ended.
Every account of fate,
Must one day be attended.

For now we are free to live,
And do such wondrous things,
But live, and live well and good,
Before death clips all our wings.

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