Born To Fly
It is something
I've never feared,
I was born to fly.
Born to see cloud shadows
on the ground and the sugar sprinkles
of snow along a ridge,
leading to
the frosting clad Shasta.
Born to see the meandering
snow melt rivers descending
into checkerboard farm lands,
and the straight course
of the plane's shadow
paralleling tiny highways
towards home.
Born to do this forever,
if I could,
in and out of cotton clouds,
towards the tops
of distant thunderheads
along the Sierras,
plunging down
to sudden showers on
small town's streets.
Like my Greek ancestor I would fly
high enough to bronze my skin
and dive,
into Pacific waters with
a blacksmith's sizzle!
I was born to fly,
and if I could,
I would hijack this plane
with all of it's cringing travelers.
I would take them on such a ride,
that they could never go back
to a normal life again.
We would have arguments over
whose turn it was to fly the plane,
this time,
and resolve them with endless games
paper, stone and scissors.
Copyright © Ahellas Alixopulos | Year Posted 2016
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