Transition

Digital art by Kirk Shannon

I sit
with sandbags
for wings,
a head
chained
to thoughts -
peering into
their own house
through
the keyhole
of a door
left open
to the winds
of change;
a heaviness
binds me
to my nest
now,
so I can nurse
my tired wings,
before I fly into
the glowing sun
of yet another day
to be lived,
on my terms.