Flightless

Is this salvation? looks more like the barrel of a gun... when the smoke clears & all that's left is radio static and wrought iron fences... no rapturous hymnals, no golden words. no hope in hoping, only death and decay. neither virtuous vision nor promise kept. we will walk the finest line drawn between heights unimagined & that which we fear. we'll stand at this precipice; can we take the leap? if we could see into our own eyes, our own lives, what would we do when the darkness confronts us? would we have the strength to change, to adapt, to grow?