I believe my only full jealous moment was with the birds in the sky.
I looked in the sky with envy, oh all the places I'd take my wings if they let me
Why leave such an activity with an animal that didn't really speak.
Maybe if they spoke, or wrote
Stories of the feeling of limitless flight would be a dream.
But into the reality I stayed woke.
I eventually lost this feeling of jealousy,
I rarely look into the sky anymore, never thought about why
Especially when the thought of soaring amongst the clouds gave such a high.
Well, maybe it's because the truth about flight hit my eyes so hard it cleared my innocent blind
And the meaning of flight shed a different light.
I finally saw a bird, up close, and it spoke
But not in the way that my younger self would've liked.
It's beak in the dirt, It's wings still in the sky unnaturally
It didn't need to say much for the message to get back to me.
Its flight wasn't limitless.
You can spend all the time in the world flying and never feel free,
Soaring and existing like a bird would be.
What is freedom and does it belong to the gone exclusively?
Seeing someone go, I assume it's not the same as seeing someone fly away.
Tears fly when those who fly the highest see lights the brightest,
In a moment of readiness, they say okay, and fly away.
I oftentimes found myself knowing they've reach peak freedom.
Maybe someday they could speak,
When my time has reached, give me a lesson and teach
I'll ask, while father stares in pride with his spiritual eyes
Will you have wings where you fly?