In a winter of discontent,
It is our duty to find it in ourselves to fly:
To feel the crisp-air and rejoice in its bravado;
Allow goodness to feather our bones,
Then lift us toward the heavens of decency.
Our wings mean more than journey:
Wings, our vision of hope;
Our proof of realization:
A salvation for the blind;
The voice of one who is speechless;
The music for one who cannot bear to hear.
Defeat: only the option for the unworthy.
One may lose compass while flying;
One may even spiral
Into the cold-depths of the ancient canyons;
Do not despair–
This is one’s divine purpose in life.
In the bitter cold;
In the starless night:
We spread our wings,
Guided by our mettle.
Let the storms loom;
They cannot harness sun.
Our soul’s awakening.