Flying

No one ever told you

you couldn’t.

What wings that must give you!

 

To know you can never fail.

To trust that if you do

if you fall from the sky

someone – or something –

will catch you.

 

Maybe, I wonder,

do you ever think,

“I can’t.” ?

 

Or perhaps you don’t care.

You do for you.

What makes you happy.

A whim.

Something to pass the time.

Another venue to leave your mark.

 

How far we might soar

if we didn’t think of falling.

If flying wasn’t the point.

Drowning

I nearly blew it up. I was down, deep in the depths, where the water is black and dank.

Heavy with regret. And I couldn’t find my way up.

Kicking and fighting — sinking lower and lower.

And then I came up.

Not in one forceful push to the surface, filling my lungs with air and spitting water.

But in a slow, sometimes gentle, oftentimes painful, unpredictable, crooked arc.

Up and down and up again until I could breathe.

That’s the scary part. Believing that the breath will come.

That you deserve to let it fill your lungs and return you to life.

Above

Perspective

at 35,000 feet.

Of life lived,

living and unlived,

opportunities and ideas

that play hide and seek

like mountains dancing

between the clouds

of friendships

and love.

Of lives played out

in hours, days and years,

related and consumed in gulps.

And the hours, days and years

go on

until they stop.

And the gulps are no more

until memories, like souls,

rise above the clouds.