Who will toll the bells for me?

I'm almost done tying my shoelaces and securing my wings. I am climbing to the heights to start the flight, but I realize that my wings are broken, just like the ones of those who the swarms of life and death have climbed even in their dreams, to consume their life without mercy. Deep inside I hear monosyllables that scream, monosyllables of words that want to build a bridge so that you and I let fly the denied feeling of life, the feeling of today, the feeling of yesterday. Perhaps after reading one paragraph and another, they will understand that between the threads of life and death there was a path among the survivors: that of having been able to tell their own stories of lives that are stories of life and death.