Friday, March 27, 2009

Flying high

He felt so proud
Soaring above everyone else
He looked back down at me
He felt safe up there

I fed some more cord
He soared a bit more
He went with the wind
With the wind he swayed

The colours adorning him loud
So he could be seen far and wide
He strayed as far away
As the cord in my hand allowed

I watched amazed
At the heights that he can soar to
At how he swam the skies
How with the wind he played

I was standing aground
He looked so high
That was when I saw a sight
That woke me up today

While the kite in my hand
Soared imagined heights
A bird passed it by
Dressed in soft, pastel shades

I dropped my precious cord
I did learn something new
Why when you can flap your wings
Why tie yourself with cords

Spread them out and fly away. That is what real flight is.

1 comment:

Michel H Ashton said...

like the flow and the way the words are woven