I dreamed I wandered through the sky,
On wings of paper, frail but high,
And every star that lit the night
Spoke secrets hidden from the light.
One said, “The world is born of flame,”
Another whispered me my name,
A third wept soft, “Beware the cost—
The dreams you chase may leave you lost.”
Yet still I flew, though winds grew strong,
My fragile wings could not last long.
I saw the dawn begin to rise,
Its fire painting all the skies.
And when at last the paper tore,
I fell, but I was not the floor—
The earth received me, kind, not grim,
And waking felt like flight within.
