When did they first clip your wings?
When did you go to fly,
Like you’d done so many times before
And instead of soaring,
Fell, lifeless, to the ground?
When did you learn that flying high
Is too threatening for some,
So you shouldn’t – you didn’t – fly at all?
And when did that moment come,
When the pain of not flying,
The phantom pain of forgotten wings,
Became too much to bear?
When did you no longer have a choice but continue to suffer
Or uncover that which had seemingly been lost,
To delicately unfold those withered wings,
Longing for devotion,
And see if they could still hold
The weight of your dreams?