Sky Path
Contorted flight.
Thats what it is, I think.
All of it I mean.
Its this long perpetual fight, to defy laws set down before us.
By something much larger,
with a gravitation, that in our own, we can not dream of ever rivalling,
But in a small pursuit of defiance,
like a last say.
We try, twist and turn.
In a constant begging to fly.
To scream out, in the loud silence of action,
look at me, up here. Right now.
At the summit. You can’t summon me. Demanding I come down.
And I of course will.
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Because inevitably, at the end of the day,
I am bound to it;
Earth.
But,
for that moment,
before the fall,
I am bound to nothing but myself and my will.
And with elations’ revelation, I am an addict.
I will perpetually contort, contrast conformities, confront constraints to
try, twist and turn.
In a constant dance to solicit flight. Cyclical. Get as close as I can to the sky.
But until my next free fall, maybe,
I’ll see you either on the clouds’ way up, or the stars’ way down,
either way I’ll see you on the path of the sky.
I’ll see you on the SkyPath
