Let fly this wounded bird

I pressed into the willing hands of one not there
the once-forgotten hopes of one who would not dare
to dream or live as dreamers might or could;
of one who sank too far into the depths of should,
misunderstood the differences between those three
and chose not wisely nor chose well the way to be,
perhaps from fear, maybe from doubt
that could would work its own way out,
so should must therefore be the only path to take
against the gnawing fear of making some mistake
which in the grander scheme of life's events
must matter less - far less - than all that fear prevents
from living, breathing, taking off, perhaps to soar
above the clouds that stop us, always, seeing more.