Fly Poem by Smoky Hoss

There is a rustle
upon the wind,
a stirring breeze, but no
wings, no feathers, to take flight,
and oh so little hope; but great
desire, to fly,
to soar really,
to rise up blessed
to the sky, the edge,
the sun, the heavens beyond -
Without wings
what can one do, but
pray and watch
the angels passing by
invisible...
you can barely hear
the flapping of gentle
wings; the breeze tells
on them, as does
the heart -
So, what is one to do?
The wind has turned
to our faces, strong, head on,
uplifting...
walk to the edge of the cliff
Jump.
Who's to say?
there's more than hope
that is betting
you will make it.