WINGS

How many roads must a boy walk before he can become a man?
School and home, alleys and the sea
Shutting the sky of youth away in broken drawers
At the dead end of the road is the entrance to the maze.

Smeared blood on the palm, like a stigma.

This pain riding up shoulder blades
Is the dream of soaring wings.

In search of a sea nowhere to be seen
The boy walks.

The boy with seven hearts.

Seven beats and one move forward
Upturned view and one is seven.
To run is to fall without doubt.
And to turn away is to meet the cliff.

In a world of swaying temptation
What is the boy looking for with closed eyes?

Open the curtains and smash the mirror

There will lie a road in the fragments.
Outside is inside, inside is outside.

An entangled world.
The crossroad of everything.

The two worlds, back to back,
Relentlessly merge into one.

Now the boy is seven on that road.
Seven but one.

Seven boys with one heart.
One and seven, the reflection of each other.

How many roads must a boy walk before he can become a man?

Roads are another way for the world.
Day and night, crossroads are tunnels.
The roads take endless forks
And always alone in the moment of decision.

In meeting and separation, there is nothing new.
If he turns around that corner, can he meet a day of his crimson youth?
(If he turns around that corner, will the crimson flowers of youth still be in full bloom?)

Where is this dream leading to?
Fear is another name for hope.
Tears are another name for smile.

The boy smiles.

He can smile because they are together.

The boy moves forward.

The boy grows up.