Wings in Fire
I stood at the lip of silence,
where fear wore my own shadow.
The wind kept calling
not sweet,
more like a street hawker shouting my name,
dragging me into tomorrows
I wasn’t ready to buy.
I had dreamed of flight once,
but the ground held me tight,
and my wings felt sewn with stone.
The sky, a wide cathedral I prayed at,
but never entered.
Still, something burned in me,
a restless dragon in my chest.
Not anger.
Not rage.
A reminder, that I was made for more
than waiting at closed doors.
So I let the ashes fall,
spoke my name out loud,
and loosened my grip on yesterday.
And though the night was stubborn,
I rose...
each tear a spark,
each scar a feather.
Until the darkness
became my sky.
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