I believe it to be true...

Gone to departures, wings beside
Lost to the inbetween , found in seam

Fabric of lust, colours of dew
Only few to be stormed, landed

Or shelved, in pockets , not leather
Never

Airsocks of fancy, person
Dead seemed bleak, alive

Risen from locks of the punished
Only to see, encouraged

Woken to songs of babble
A far away close place,
Of swept back, feed