ear Blackbird, 

I heard your song in the mid of night, I hummed along with your tune and felt moved by the composition you orchestrated. You then took flight, I looked up and watched in amazement. The power in your ascending strokes granted the clouds and moonlight a-sort-of humility as you set off dazzling center-stage, surrounded by the lights of a thousand stars. The climb of your flight depicted a distinguished perseverance best reckoned as an anthem of freedom amplified from the skies you soared upon. 

My face then fell, burdened with thought. I know we don’t share the same pigmentation in skin, and your wings stretch higher than my lowly feet will ever reach - but I see so much of who I yearn to be, in you. Our bodies may have illuded to differing stories and perpendicular beginnings, but even this perpetuated illusion began at the commonality of our intersecting mortality; an unknowingness and disorientation naturally rooted in the clouded mind of every imperfect creature. You however, dear Blackbird, have known of your capacities and great destiny from long ago. You were merely waiting for this moment to arise. A moment where you’d be free, and lead the way for every lost wayfarer of life. And each night, as they lay in the grass in eager anticipation for the break of dusk - alluding to the coming of dark and the playing of your song - I see more and more pairs of eyes looking up, seeking you, watching, listening, and learning from you. 

Would you teach me your ways, dear Blackbird? How did you revive the dead of night? How did you take your wings and learn to fly? And from far up above where you now fly, do you see sight of light for the other birds as well? Those also captured in cages tainted red. Might you know when their moment will also arise? 

Please teach us, dear Blackbird. Please teach us how to fly.