Turning the corner,

her feet needing no guidance

as they pound the hardened cement.

To the cobalt blue,

did her eyes wander up.

Blown into a niche,

seven or more, there they hung.

A cast of hawks coast.

Until, to her eyes,

riding waves she could not see,

the cast breaks free.

More follow behind,

talent, vying for a spot,

filling heavens stage.

For now, restriction

seems to be the most freeing.

Those she had seen first,

find new currents; more pleasing.

Simply repeating,

with a little more wisdom

what was done before.

Given intent eyes

and lofty heights grasped steadfast.

No destination.

She could not help but wonder,

what could the world offer her?

What she had to give

in return was clichéd and trite.

She did not know her own lines.