Regrowing Wings
I had my wings before I fell,
they hang tangled in branches, well,
the worst could come—death or hell,
but I survived.
This pain still stings, the tale I tell
of loss, revived.
Regrowing wings, I should feel glad,
it hasn’t been all sad or bad,
but rather wild, intense, and mad—
an earned reprieve,
a lesson learned before I had
a worthless dream.
Freedom burns like the midday sun,
not meant to rise too soon, my son.
The earth’s a place of scars, undone,
if you dare try.
A healing soul will learn to run,
then touch the sky.
In Caves
Caves are prisons for great minds.
Even now, we push them out of sight.
The mindless bask in sunlight’s light,
while the clever live like cornered beasts,
silenced, oppressed in endless dark.
But who sparked the discoveries?
Not you, too narrow-minded
to let new ideas reveal.
All were born in caves,
where great souls fought fiercely
to face the light, without shame.