12 May 2012
To fly. To soar To glide, way up high Never reaching the floor
Anchors of worry behind me, Paper planes of hope up ahead Chained to the sky, yet flying free The weight of woe taken instead
If I could grow wings, hold the stars in my hand, Would you be there as the wax melts? For my final stand?
Like Daedalus, Icarus, and Their invention; I will keep trying, till I reach my ascension.
Ascension • Opuss № I