Amor fati

My wings are black,
burned and charred,
a line of ash follows my trail.
Do I ever fly?
All I remember is my endless anguish for a take-off.

It wasn’t the sun that I was close.
Longing hardens day and night,
hiding an icy moon under my arm.
My gaze up,
spreading the wings in a pitch-black darkness, to fall.

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