We may only postulate the beauty that awaits beyond these gates of probability.

Haughtily in wait of wax wings

clutching the stolen tools that experience brings

father laid out the flight pattern

crying out against the vile lament.

Examining the sun in melted, and falling feathers, against fathers wishes.

drowning in the negligent sediments of the blessing,  lost.

flightless in sightless frost

tossed

into eternity