Flying

Flying

We are ready to slice the ropes and soar,
dance in the garden of Eden on rooftops.
Stop breaking our hands trying to carve,
and smashing through the sharps walls of glass.
Our bodies are our bullets, armed and ready
to tear the flesh of the ever-thickening air.

 And we begin to breathe in such new air, 
our inner eagles rising to soar,
we discover we are hardly ready.
For the coming dancing on the rooftops.
We are simply staring through the glass
alone with knives and ink to carve.

And the sunken eyed, which do nothing but carve
have given up on the true air,
decided to asphyxiate inside their own glass. 
They have given up their dreams to soar
over the rooftops of dancing people
many of whom are quite unready

The hands are all trembling, not quite ready
 to grasp the blades and carve
 bright, brilliant new pictures on rooftops, 
 to let blood run into the thick air.
Only the few who soar
can see them through the frosting glass.

On the other side of that glass,
sit the figured of wisdom, great men and woman ready
to watch the world be soar. 
As with their thick eyes they make a deep carve,
smelling fear in the air
and hatred on the rooftops.

And it is on those very rooftops,
with all the internal wars outside glass,
that strengthens the air.
The air is ready
to let the new people carve
as they learn how to soar.

We will stand out on those rooftops, feeling how ready.
Watch us break the glass, cut with a deep carve
whatever harms that sweet air that we love as we soar.