Funny how they float just out of reach
Just past the tips of fingers
the grasp of belief.
Just as the bird will hop and glide,
the dream will follow
its nature being that of going, free to flutter, falter and fall.
When I look up at the sky I see
the freedom that resides there.
The clouds, they float, voluptuous, gay.
The birds that glide, unaware of the envy abounding beneath their hollow bones.
The dreams come true,
Flying above the ground of doubt, defeating the weight of disbelief.
As the plane my dreams will soar,
yes weight of debt
yes drag of home
but I will bear the hardships of the runway to the sky
for the sound of my heart, beating in its cage of bone
will serve as thrust.
And the cheering of my family, rushing past my ears to fall behind me as memories of love
will lift me as the wind.
I will see the boulders that force me down,
(the lack of reason to believe,
I could ever achieve this feat!)
Shrink to nothing on the ground,
(And if I fail, to what avail?)
And fall behind with no hope of ever being more to me
than pebbles from the past of doubt
my confidence will snuff them out.