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To soar high in the clouds like a bird To feel free and not chained To explore the world around us The closest we have to flying The closest we have to floating in the sky
On a plane squished and uncomfortable. People are scooting around And tossing their luggage above my head After what feels like hours everyone is quiet Anticipating the dreary safety instructions
Fast. Faster.  As the speed increases, so does my heart. My eyes melt as I look across the horizon slowly accelerating into the oblivion. Every cloud a different shape with a different story,
  Big metal birds, Fly high in the sky, “What are they?” Those metal birds so high.   “Planes,” But how?
Another pass over the bigger city to the south makes me wonder about all the absence in the night; the pitch-blackest part that the eye can’t see.
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