On 14


Beneath this dizzying sun,
Strokes the teasing breeze,
The ground draws a crooked '11',

Silence tails my back,
Veins at peace,
As I foretell,

This much and never more,
For the 19th year,
The menu never run further than this,

Sinking a loose in the water?
Keeping would be better,
It lightens... but not your heart,

Eros has planned,
Not yet for me,
Still waiting by his hourglass,

"same old fourteen for nineteen"

My Wings

My Wings...
My Wings...
My Wings...

My Wings...
Are not to carry me across the broad sky,
But to carry your weak limbs with me,

My Wings...
Are not to quilt over the cold weather,
But to keep you warm,

My Wings...
Are not to camouflage me from danger,
But to keep you safe,

My Wings...
Are not to glorify my looks,
But to humble my love unto you,

My Wings... My Wings...
They are not mine...
But love's...

My Wings...
Oh... My Wings...
...love's...

note: This is my first time doing the repetitive style. I might have done so previously but

this is the more obvious one.