can you hear the whispers that call out from the midst of the storm?
the murmur mixed rumble that echoed from the depth of the hurricane.
yea, i heard them calling me by name, dragging me by hand.
yea, prompted from the depth. i was stirred, shaken, flung and bent.

so fly boy fly, along side the dilapidated roof
smile as the rain cuts through your sunken cheeks
mix a replusive cocktail of rain, blood and a drop of tear
to toast my maiden flight, without wings, without fear

then...
one day when i would wake to find
grateful, that I have wings to fly



disclaimer: i'm not suicidal or going bonkas, just doing some wordplay.