Wings

She stands there looking down
Eyes popping at the long, long
Long drop down to the rocky bottom
She looks over her shoulder
Sees the home,
Steps back, almost changing her mind,
Almost.

Jumping or letting herself fall
Could be the end again
Could be the breaking
Of everything she is, at the bottom
Of that rough crag
Every piece of her ripped apart
Bloodied at the bottom.

But jumping could be miraculous
Jumping could mean she flys
He would need to create her wings though
Beautiful wings of freedom
Wings that prevent her falling
Wings that give her an experience
She's never had,
A miracle,
Her very own miracle.
A miracle of flight,
Of hope.
Because these wings could
Give her something she can't see
They don't exist yet
They live in her mind as one possibility.
If she doesn't jump, she'll never know.
Jumping is trusting in the impossible
Which only He can make reality.
Oh those wings her could stitch onto her shaking back...
Does she believe?
Can she see them, feel them there?
If they don't appear,
Well, she'll know only for a few seconds
Until she smacks the bottom
And so she turns back once more,
Sees the yellowed house, hears their screams,
They're crying out for peace, their own wings.
She turns back, raises her head, closes her eyes,
And breathes.