Broken wings can't be mended in flight.
You must be held in cupped hands,
fed small morsels of time,
sung to sweetly
by someone who's felt their own wing snap
in an uncertain moment
when they thought they were gaining,
about to clear the blown splintered leaves and branches
that held them back.
You will rest there,
find patience
and reverence
for your worried cherub body
that gifts you this moment.
You will be tired
every day,
but you will remember joy.
You will fly again,
with your mended wings
that hurt some days
and are never quite the same,
but are still good for flying.
Now you have hands that can hold another
just so,
now you know the songs
that broken wings need to hear,
now you can be refuge for someone
who has spent themselves
in the shattering parts of the world,
and just needs
a little love
and a little time
to heal.
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