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Raw and bloody, cold and scarred
Winter binds and coils around my soul,
The eastern slight of white bars me
From a thousand suns—

Twilight reaches in oil lamp warmth
As I temper the pain within my bones,
Aching to unfurl and brush off the ice
From my stiffened wings—

All I can do is totter, twig around the tar
That renders me weak in blackened coal,
Wanting to soar, glide into sky implicitly
And dip in God’s fund—

But I must endure the circular gray storm
Before my soul lands on heaven’s dawn-lit dome
For, my wounds will be the proof of rights
And final dividend.