Burning Out

I'm a feather floating on the breeze -
A bent, burnt out quill,
Dripping ink all over
My dreams.

Shaking in an ice cold wind
Of fearful ferocity and the
Trembling hopes that fill me
With dread, I drift away
On this breeze and hope
To be carried
Someplace I want to be.

This is so meaningful yet meaningless
To me.

I'm losing altitude and momentum,
Not feather light anymore –
My bled out quill has turned to lead
As I sink back to the floor.

Dust gathers on my fingers
As the cold stiffens my joints;
I'm scared and alone,
Hopeful and hopeless
All at the same time.

I've had a lifetime of people
Telling me
That I can do this,
And I'm so afraid to let them down.

Because what if, just maybe,
I can't?

I'm burning out,
No feathers left on this quill;
My mind is strung out, empty,
And the ink has had its fill.