Fly

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.