Echoes No.6: Failure

I am just a common man, one of the teeming "hoi poloi, " a man of ordinary desires, sometimes hot, more often cool, even their satisfaction leaves me bereft, anxious for a greater fulfillment. I sometimes dream I am a winged creature, but when I awake, my wings are pressed into my flesh and cannot unfold, or they hang uselessly, stirring slightly in a passing breeze. Often I look out a high window at the wide blue sky. It is emblematic of your summons, "Come Here." If only I could pump vital energy into my wings, or stir my mind to grasp some natural energy flowing freely around my stale existence, then I would surprise first myself and then you and - Sometimes I move forward until an invisible resistance halts me, Then I move backwards, fall backwards and feel a rare excitement, until fear halts me, fear the sentinel that frustrates impulse and keeps me trapped. I am after all just a common man, so why should I aspire to change my condition? The day has sunk into darkness, the high window is blank. Why should it be otherwise? (This poem is a response to "Come Here" by Baharak Barzin.")