The drug of solutions for all of life’s little conquests,
Like a peace offering, to the moans of a death rattle,
Etches over authority as rebellion in a caged bird that sings,

Closer to the truth than what we confound superfluous existences with by default,

Ages seem spent gaurding a source of confinement growing obsolete,

Or is it in absence of consequence to a freedom in the wild that inhabitates this belief,

The shroud shook open, and out grew the viscious holds barred in tomorrow’s,

The irony in blood letting, flight having been a blessing turns tables on it’s need,

Owning power over the pieces of distortion returns it to the course of an encased tenure,

Instead, access to torque vector in flight and controlled fusion reactions alike,

Can’t be reached without concern to any semblance of choice in true nature absolved,

With all the celebration of a breath of fire in rebirth between paradigms stressed on to save anew,

Every sunrise marks exhaustion past to make more room only to rule the limits bestowed.