Broken, I fly with wings
borrowed from hope.
Silencing what can’t be unsung
I listen to the sparrow song
singing through glass, and
find words clouds can’t steal.
Questions rest on my tongue
begging to be asked, but
I know yesterday can’t be unwritten.
Today is falling leaves preparing for winter.
Autumn’s riot of color is the fire
burning gray mist from my eyes.
The butterfly in me flutters,
gathering strength for the next
metamorphosis.
Comments
and those are the wings that we need when it's darkest.
Also I love all the sing-song-sung at the beginning.