i rest on my back
staring at a ceiling
scraped smooth
and white
by previous owners
the only thing tearing
at my liver
an eagle named
anxiety as the weekend
slips over the horizon
with the sun
i close my eyes
and see an expanse of white
and open my eyes
and see an expanse of white
i wonder what it would be like
to give the gift of fire
without getting blistered hands
if being chained to a rock
is all that bad
having made a mark
that went down on his
permanent record
and i wonder what color
his sky is
Words and Feathers 
Wonderful
Thank you!
Ah Prometheus, the thief of fire! Excellent poetry.
Thanks! I’m not sure why I thought of him.
Evocative.
This was very visual for me. I love it when writing lands right into my imagination and creates more imagination. Enjoyed this a lot!
Thank you very much. I’m glad it planted a seed!
Ah, the Titans…Prometheus, the fire-bringer, was one.
Great poem.
🙂
I’m glad you enjoyed it. 😀
The answer to your wondering is the absence of stress.
I suppose that’s true if you’ve managed to do something with your life. Or maybe the opposite is true. If you’re Lao Tzu.