I spin like a fidget spinner,
race like a track star,
and drift through space,
like an astronaut lost in thought.
I reach and try, as if my life depends on it,
staring up at the sky, painted deep blue,
birds flying free—a sight I envy.
I wish to fly, to see, to simply be.
The sky grows darker, a canvas painted black,
my eyes close, matching the night's shade.
I picture myself a bird, weightless, unseen,
feeling nothing, hearing silence, finally free.
Flipping and tumbling, I drift like a feather,
a fidget spinner, yet a bird, in my mind's eye.
Thoughts of Sonic spinning through the air,
until I somersault back to earth, a human once more.
I land on solid ground, feet meeting the floor,
already at the store—a place dim and gray,
like someone lit a single torch in the shadows.
My steps echo, a soft click on the worn cement,:
eyes half-closed, hiding in my own vision.
Once outside, I look to the night—painted black,
with tiny yellow stars, like a child's bright sketch.
I smile, imagining those innocent hands at work,
and feel the quiet hope that someday soon,
I'll take flight..
YOU ARE READING
Through my lens
PoetryStep into the vibrant mind of a poet and writer, where creativity knows no bounds. Dive into the joy of storytelling through poetry, where each verse offers a glimpse into unique perspectives and untold tales. Let yourself be drawn into the visual s...
