Quite a nice place it seems
where whispers beg us to dream.
Different are the sentiments the broken sing
as they fly upon tired and fractured wings.
Their grasp of sober judgement
went where the last vice was spent.
So must be the torment
of a broken soul’s lament.
So the tattered look to the sky
begging for answers why.
Those songs and whispers they heard
struck against their cheek as absurd.
Because pain serves to numb
who you are and what you could become.
It’s time to dream those dreams
the time has come to mend those wings.
Open your ears and hear your child
set aside those toxic things that defile.
Hear the whispers from another’s breath
learn what life is when not seeking death.
You might have to look behind to repair
worn out spots where your wings would tear.
Nothing is new under the sun
all decide where their journey’s begun.
Pain seeps into the veins of all souls
we only can control those things we know.
When we discover why we’re numb
is the start to where the journey is run.
All wings will tear
so we must be constant in their repair.