Hero With a Wing

I see myself a hero

while one wing falls away

and the dial approaches zero

in a spiralling display.

My past life flashes feverishly,

and lives I did not lead,

like the time I was a hero,

of a weird, outlandish breed.

One arm of flesh-and muscle

and one of feathered scale

I was a hero with a wing

that was of no avail.

I could only fly in circles

like a corkscrew in the sky,

my one wing flapping frantically

while birds just glided by.

I launched myself from mountains

and from the highest trees

although I could get nowhere

and just landed on my knees.

But still I was a hero,

with one wing more than most.

Almost half an Angel;

a whirling holy ghost.

My father was an eagle

with two wings wide as sails

my mother was the west wind witch

with grasping finger nails.

She lured him from his aerie

with her twittering device.

She kept him in a golden cage

and fed him field mice.