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Blinded



If you fly too close to the sun, you're poised to plummet.
But sometimes we choose to fly too high; by choice we fall.
We cross that line; that proverbial "point of no return".
On the way up, we revel; coming down, we're humbled.

When there's so much to attain and plenty to gain,
The choice is easy; the decision, discernable,
Because the sun is lovely, its excellence is plain.
You'll risk your sight simply to behold its allure.

But when there's nothing to lose, you lose your wax wings.
Despite your descent, it's easy to forgive.
Because it's better to be blinded by perfection,
And to know her name, than to never percieve it at all.
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Submitted on October 15, 2013

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Calvin Morrow Claim this poet

Calvin Morrow is an alias. All my poetry is about one single woman. I really like reviews so I can perfect it. Maybe one day she'll know... more…

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