Having Wings

I am at the rope.
Unable to see and content in this.
So, I listen.  I think.  I remain on tangents.

Then, a voice.
It says "What are you waiting for?" and I laugh.
Exactly this, I figure.
Then I go and it is wonderful.

Here, now, so long after that fact, I still wait for the voice.
I can be my own voice yet have fear.
In order to let go of my perceived security, all this stuff that seems real must be embraced
as the make-believe
which it is.
Only then will I be able to use these wings
which have been
so ever
at the ready.