What are my wings for?

Two choices I had, which life served Fight it or take a flight Flight was tempting, why else did I have my wings? Death waits for me on either side, the archers being veterans. I fly, but not as high Fear of death burdening my back I fall to the ground, the easy choice is gone Death becomes my inevitable fate Burdensome fear vanishes leaving a sore of my last mistake. I pick my wings, I sheath myself, this time To fight the abusive arrows, deliberately hurled Feathery wings or Iron Shield? Perception diluting their difference My wings can be anything I want them to be Today a shield, tomorrow an Umbrella Protecting me from the scorching heat of evil thoughts . Or a Life Boat surviving my inner dark storms. Or a paint brush painting the empty canvas of my mind with awareness of self.