There is this thing I long for,
From the safety of my sheets,
And it calls to me each evening,
But is just out of reach.
There is this thing I dream of,
From the comfort of my home,
But in darkness it is sitting,
And there I am alone.
There is this thing I hear of,
From the whispers of the town.
There is this thing I see,
As it rises in the east,
The locals call it the sun,
But my mother calls it a beast.
There is this thing I long for,
dream of, hear of and see,
High in the atmosphere,
Is where I'll learn to be me.
Because I know my days have come to an end.
And the beast will soon be too much for my losing eyes.
But I know that freedom is out there,
Waiting for me,
In the breezes of the skies.
YOU ARE READING
Poems
PoetryI see the sun And I see the rain And I dance through it all Not all of these poems are by me
