The Art Of Flying Free

First birth gave me life, a gift of uncertain value, in which I had no real say.
I wasted some precious time then gave the rest away.
Barely breathing, half-way through to journey's most certain ending,
I wrestled it back and gifted myself with a new beginning.

Coming to my senses felt like waking from a tightly clinging nightmare.
Old tired habits protested against change with frightful screams of terror.
A small grain of self roared all opposition in to sudden deafening silence,
And passion to do more than just exist forced a coward into instant compliance.

Every footstep ventured now, is dream driven and lovingly taken,
Toward a life that better fits my soul, than the one so long ago forsakeen.
A narrow rut wouldn't be near roomy enough to contain the visions that i see,
And autopilot couldn't teach me anything useful about the art of flying free.