It begins with a drop.

A word, a knife

That ripples across a field of silence.

With what calm he lacks to understand strife,

He breaks, shatters, in quiet requiem.

Since when did failure become a sin

And victories lose their halo glow?

Don’t go close to the sun, he hears

A challenge it seems to be

If he touches the star, will he praise him? 

Forgive him? Degrade him? Respect him?

He writes and thinks and cries and bleeds

But he believes.

He believes in himself who has learned the pain

Of a father whose pride has forsaken his name

Distrusting his guide who whispered lies

Erased and hoaxed his disposition

Wax drips from abrupt heat－

Crash and falter when skin meets sea－

Till the waves welcome his intrusion,

And the waters swallow him,

Leaving the two with only a half

Of a lonely figure stuck in time.

Hear his father’s mourning

Feel his father’s love

Pity his father’s regret

And the pair of broken wings