Poem: Advice

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Advice

“But what, dear father, if I have no cogs?
What if I have wings instead?”

“Then they will try to mold your wings
   into tiny metal teeth and put you in their machine.”

“And what if I fly, father? What if I fly
high into the sky?”

“Then they will shoot at you, my son. 
  Again and again, they will shoot.”

“But if I am fast, father?
Will their bullets find me”

“They will find you, my son, for they are unrelenting
  and believe devoutly in their machine.”

“Oh father, will they hurt, the bullets?
Will I die?”

“They will hurt my son. But they will not kill.
  The scars will hurt long after.”

“Then I should not fly, should I father?
For it is not safe to have wings.”

“It is not safe, my son, but fly, fly no matter what
  for it is glorious to fly, and forever worth the pain.”

About this poem

Something a little different. Advice I wish I had gotten as a child.

Tom

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