I will fly so high, till the words run out, till darkness consumes me all around, till there is no light and nothing sounds.
I’m going to fly until my wings give out, until there’s nothing left to observe, till clouds are storming all about.
A poet raises alot of questions, so his wings stretch to find a truth, sometimes he lights upon a wire, to see if it all is worth.
I will rise up and climb the sky, till others find my formation and birth, ride wisdom and Revelation’s skirt.
