From up here,
The sky is so much lower.
Clouds rest upon my chest,
And just to survive,
I must sip mist and bathe
Lightly in sunshine.
Planes that zip,
Birds that bolt,
Speed past my ears and
Their echoes put my body
In motion;
Pressuring and threatening me
To fall..
Straight..
Down..
To only be swallowed-
Whole-
By winds of change
Oceans, streams
Of indecision, discomfort.
Oh how I hope the heavens will allow me
To wear out my welcome
For beds on high
And eat and drink of the saints
Have me thirsting for all that's
Golden and brilliant.

01/04/2009

Author's Note: An excessive fear of a situation - apotemnophobia

Posted on 01/04/2009
Copyright © 2024 Jared Orlando