Wings

Crisp, flaky, light and raw.
Easy to crush, they scatter.
Scatter away when dead
And bring upon the death
Of the body too.
Wings.
What scary little things.

Don't be fooled
By their useful cunning.
When soaked, they betray.
Take shelter during the showers.
To stay afloat later.
Or your corpse will float away.
Wings.
Unfaithful little things.

Not even fires
Or fumes
Or mysterious smells and sprays.
Trust then to withstand nothing.
They can't save you.
They're weak.
Wings.
Pesky, overestimated things.

Protect them.
To protect you.
You're on your own here, really.
Soar. Explore.
But don't let down
Your guard
You kept up so long.
Both blessing and a burden,
Wings.
What peculiar little things.

Different for a bat,
A bird, Pegasus.
Different for gliders and hawks.
Yours are just too unique.
Precious, yet worthless.
The irony of ironies.
Wings.
Bug wings.
What fragile little things.