Flying was the step after falling.
Letting your arms free,
soaring into what might be.
An intentional calling.
The birds ascended abouve the clouds,
fulfilling the wishes of many,
a dream worth plenty.
The billows of matter a buzzing crowd.
For you had to fall before you flew,
jumping into what was unknown,
and landing home,
into what you knew.
YOU ARE READING
To The World
Poetry"the inferno of words would be my demise if i did not express them." #501 in poetry #640 in poetry #689 in poetry #692 in poetry
