To Dare the Heavens Again

Grief sharpened my bones into weapons, and I wear my sorrow like a blade at my hip,

Once, I believed the sky would cradle me as gently as a lover.

I forgot the sky is an Oracle who never speaks without demanding something in return,

My wings were stitched from Titan ambition, wax pressed into feathered prayers.

I rose above the quiet hunger of the earth, certain no god could deny me,

But the air thinned as I climbed, and my heart became a Hydra, all hunger and flame.

The clouds turned their many faces, each one a pale Valkyrie watching my ascent,

Their eyes were made of distant stars, indifferent to the shape of my desire.

When I reached the threshold of heaven, I thought I heard them singing my name,

But no song saved me when the sun bared its teeth in triumph.

It licked the wax from my shoulders, and the wind laughed in my ears,

I tumbled through an ocean of burning light, my pride a shattering crown.

Even now, I dream of that moment, the bright hush before the fall,

The way the horizon split open like a wound I could never mend.

Some nights, I wake tasting ashes, believing I am still ascending,

But dawn comes, and I remember: even Titans are undone by longing.

Even Oracles go silent when the sky has made up its mind,

I gather what remains of my ruin, build a shrine from each broken feather.

I will kneel before it, unafraid, and dare the heavens to deny me again.