Flying Dreams
/Flying Dreams
Crisp skies swirling like fall leaves filter through my bare toes
Towers of scudding gray clouds bear my head like silken pillows
As I drift on tides aerial not oceanic
Atmosphere like water waiting to capsize into rain
And I perch above silent
Dreaming of the flood
The fall
Will I rise on currents above the fray and wildness into white
Air so thin I can barely breath but saved the deluge below?
Or shall I drift down to be dashed to earth
Buffeted by masses of impure oxygen and atomized water?
Which is better in the end
The sinking truth
Or towering illusion?
In-between the destiny waiting in the wings it’s uncertain.
All is potential and possibilities for good or ill.
Flying like living is temporary
Although in the air we soar as if it were an eternal fact.
Yet always clutching for purchase
Deep inside we know
As all things do
We are
Impermanent
Am I more so?
A bit tighter tied to the earth that I shall one day enter?
Fragility built into organs and cells.
Betrayed by self.
Rebellion of reproduction.
I feel concrete and solid
Yet I am ethereal
Gossamer and smoke.
I have battled the gusts and ripping winds forever it seems.
Kept aloft through gales and slings and arrows
Risen when others knocked me down to fall
And soared through the turbulence of all.
Now I sink.
The winds are less friendly and certain.
Will I arc back upwards
Sweep once again into wide open skies triumphant?
Or is this my violent exit to cold earth?
My exile and curtain call.
Past this veil I try and peer.
Swirl your crystals.
Read the leaves passing in the breeze.
Is there a pattern to discern?
Speaking of forevers or tomorrows
Are warm arms stretching wide to horizons unknowable,
Waiting for my final bow with eager longing,
Or is restful silence my last reward?
Born about on tides and currents to what purpose?
Is there a destination,
A landing pad in the wilderness
To which I pace on knowing but silent feet?
For now I batten down for the impending storm
The torrents of rain building like doubts around me
Blinded by the swaths of cloud so far above the ground.
But what is my altitude?
And are there mountain tops concealed in the coalescing mist?
They say it isn’t the falling anyway
It’s that sudden stop at the end.
