the caws of the broken, the chirps of the desperate needy
echo through my head, threatening to branch across mine dreams
yet the fruits of gracious alms are swallowed by the greedy
and i hear my own calls among the multitude of screams.

it weakens, the bread which has fed our spirit far too long
so that crippled chicks now flock the limbs of a barren tree
searching for notes to carry on their oblivious song;
if only one could unhinge their eyes, sent their sights free.

i feel blows of the radical, shaking the foundation
losing foothold, beheld is the strength of the King of Kings
hewing a mast that would lift up the arms of salvation
and catch the fallen as they topple from once mighty rings.

if you spread your wings open like a book, sky-stripped friend,
you would soar over golden marigolds into the Son
where on a stairway of glory i would throw my body to aid you ascend
to the heights of Paradise, you whose freed fall shall fell none.