I always dreamt of flight

In an immediate sense I have my mother to thank for the inspiration for the poem below. It was her mention of the theme "flight" for a poetry group that set me to thinking about different meanings of the word flight and putting pen to paper (or more accurately cursor to screen) to create this.

I am sure she won't mind me saying though, that beyond that initial word, the real inspiration for this comes from my contact with my students at St Chad's Sanctuary: people who, have known the worst nightmares of flight, but who, I hope, can still dream of soaring with the birds. Once again, I trust that they will excuse my attempts to speak of an experience I can not begin to imagine.

I always dreamt of flight

Lying

On grass, or concrete, or sandy beach

Pressed

Against the solid ground beneath

But

Eyes open

Squinting from the sun

Or closed

Turned inwards on a dream

I always dreamt of flight

I knew

That I could soar and circle with the birds

And drift like wispy clouds

Across a bright blue sky

Laughing

In childhood games of fantasy

Gazing skywards

Dreaming of infinity

If I could ask

A granted wish of just one thing

My chosen super power

I would not hesitate

Because

I always dreamt of flight

I knew

That I would swoop and swerve and dive

And glide with silent majesty

Across a deep blue sky

And as I grew

I knew

Never would I soar and circle

Like the birds

Nor swoop and swerve and dive

But Still

Alone in quiet moments

Looking up

To the endless realm of skies

I sometimes dreamt

Of flight

To drift like wispy clouds

And glide with silent majesty

To hide from this reality

In an infinity of blue

Until

As skies flare red

And thick black smoke

Obscures

The fragile wings of birds

Their hallowed, haunting song

Replaced

By metal monsters

Who hum a tune of

Death

The longed-for, dreamt-of, promised

Flight

Discovered

In the urgency of anguish

Amid the acrid fear which clings

With unforgiving tenacity

To bloodied feet 

And to hidden memories

No soaring wings or deep blue skies

In this my flight

Which did not match

The patterns 

which not so very long ago

Had swirled before 

My childish eyes

No swooping free, no swirling dives

No soaring, circling paradise

No hiding

From this

The harsh reality of our lives

Flight

This childhood dream

Which found a strange fulfilment

In a living nightmare

As huddled, shivering,

I cannot help but wonder

Is this some kind of irony?

When

I had always dreamt of flight