The seed of a sky warrior,
is sown by it's father,
into it's mother,
atop a tree.
The egg is laid.
Together,
the two care for the coming child.
A mother's love to keep it warm,
a father's shield to keep it safe.
The newborn child breaks free of it's shell,
its nurtured for a time.
As all of us do, he feels comfort under his mothers wing.
Be we mustn't let the comfort soften our muscles.
For your mother knows that when the time comes,
she will have to push you off the highest branch of the tree,
in which you were born.
You and your siblings.
And at that moment lays the hardest decision we will ever have to make...
Because then we must choose,
are we going to spread our wings and try to fly,
without the worry we it can't be done without our mother.
Without the worry that our wings will get tired.
Or,
are we going to pray that we may be saved,
when we know its within our own power,
and splatter on the ground below.
Where we become a stain,
greeted with looks of disgust.
And their voices will cry out our name,
making it a synonym for disgrace and mockery...
And they will cease nay,
even after we leave our rotting beds,
their shrieks of rebuke,
will echo for eternity.
