Soaring Bird

The cage is open, why not spread your wings? The lost sky, the long-absent dream, the hope in the depths of blue, gone forever? Is it truly beyond all trace? The wind rises, thoughts dance in the wind, much like a leaf — what letter is that from the tree, to whom does it confide? I am a bird with broken wings, once I soared through the nine heavens, never having lost my dream — can I astonish the world with a single cry? The long-absent sky still holds wind and snow, the long-absent wind and snow, the dream remains the same; I spread my wings and fly swiftly, casting off the drifting clouds behind me, pressing forward single-mindedly, never pondering the trajectory of life. The sun scoffs coldly, I abandon the struggle and sink into the mire. Come, darkness — my boiling blood shall melt away all your fear. I am a flying bird; I have found all that is mine. Though the blue sky has grown dim, my song will pierce through every speck of dust and awaken those patients who still slumber. I carry that sapphire of life in my beak, delivering it to a war-torn land. In the dormant days, the spirit has not withered, thoughts still run, gathering strength for the blessing I missed. The flowers will fade, but the seeds they leave behind will take root, sprout, and one day grow into towering trees. Fly, little bird, fly bravely toward your tomorrow — the world there is veiled in mist and rain, the children there will play alongside you. Fly, even when you are utterly spent, even when you have thought of giving up — for there is love, forget the wounds, release the regrets, and tomorrow's you will gaze down upon the land beneath your feet, and tell yourself: this is my life, without regret. A life that shakes heaven and earth, without regret. A life of obscurity, without regret. A life of one's own, moving oneself, without regret.