Defensive Wings Poem by The voice of silence .

Above the Abyss, the Wind Whistles

Above the abyss, the wind whistles,
Some are falling, some are soaring.
I rushed toward the sun on high,
But fire singed my wings like smoke.

Pain is the price of courage,
Ash is the cost of a vivid blaze.
I do not regret the cinders,
For even in falling, there is grace.

Though the sky is far away now,
And my eyes still burn bright,
If you do not heat yourself — you will not burn,
Then I have truly lived, not in vain.

Scorched wings are not the end,
They are a sign I shone brighter than the shadow.
Those who have never fallen do not know the earth,
Those who have never burned will not understand the fire.