Take to the skies on gilded wings,
Fly far and wide, see many beautiful things,
Hearken, hold in reverence the bird who sings,
The song that matches your merry tune,
capture it's essence, it will be gone soon,
For all things move on, leaving only remnants,
quickly fading images we call imprints,
Which tell the tales of great souls,
some a blazing fire, others searing coals,
All shifting and changing with time,
As interchangeable as every word I rhyme,
Yet never losing a beat, never faltering,
Is somehow perfect, in all it's altering,
Even when the night is ever encroaching,
And tendrils of light are there for reproaching,
Despite the times when we are blinded,
When of sorrow and loss we are reminded,
When we stumble and lose it all,
There is grace in the way we fall,
At the sight of a wounded warrior, falling from the sky,
The elegance of knowing that there's another try,
When looking down at souls so lost,
You must understand there was a terrible cost,
Stand beside them and be their guide,
Take them with open arms on every side,
Lead them to the beauty you know so well,
Mend wings broken from the burdens of hell,
Too heavily and too numerous to tell,
Love them, and do not ever leave them alone,
They listen in darkness, to find solace in your loving tone.