White wings spread, feathers brushing the sky till tips glow with the rising sun.
Chains bite, dragging back down and grounding, refusing flight.
Battered, bruised, unbroken, wings slowly unfold once more, shaking away doubt and despair.
Growing wide, soft wafting wind catches them up, lifting till they break the unbelieving bonds.
Pulling up, reaching towards the clouds, arms stretch out for the radiant future.
Fingertips brush the light, burdens holding back, keeping tomorrow just ought of reach.
Forced behind by cares, arms open wide, accepting the warming rays so freely given.
A smile dances upon a pair of lips.
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Obviously went for imagery over rhyme. I've never really written a poem before. While writing this, I thought about Emily Dickinson's "Hope" and just sort of went off on my own tangent of that idea. This will probably be one of the few (if not only) poems that I will write since my focus is fantasy fiction.
