James Chenevert Poet Rhyme

Flight of the Spirit

I hover high above the ground,
gently land ing the tree's.
The branches easily sway,
moving with the breeze.

I sit there, just watching all the 
movement in the street below.
The sun bathes me, heating my body,
from the rays soft, warm glow.

I leave my perch, 
zoom toward the people,
and then...and then,
up again I fly, just missing,
a tall, dark steeple.

In and out of the clouds,
I nautically drift.
A bird screeches and whooshes by.
I grab onto his tail,
as he pulls me toward the sky.

We fly together for a while,
riding high, on a pocket of air.
Just me and the bird, alone,
soaring free with not a care.

Now I let go, off I fly,
into the mist of the day.
Such a feeling, higher, higher,
much higher I say.

The ecstasy of being so free,
swells up deep inside of me.
All of a sudden I feel a pull,
falling, falling deep.
And then it is over,
I awake to reality,
from a happy peaceful sleep.

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