What does it feel like to fly,
Rising to meet the blue sky?
Soaring to a new height.
A bird’s exclusive right.
Alone and soaring high,
Nary a cloud in the sky.
Take me along with you, please.
What can I do to appease?
The wind will ruffle my feathers.
I will fly without any tethers.
I will fly over the land
To the tune of a marching band.
Source: weheartit.com
A bit of fluttering
tickles your fingers.
Antennas search for sound
as wings take flight.
It leaves too soon
on the puff of a breeze.
For one precious moment,
you hold life in your hand.
Ice Fire
Cold.
Icy cold.
My toes feel numb.
My fingers tingle.
The wind howls.
Sleep tempts me.
But I must continue.
A few more steps.
Silence wraps its arms around me.
I raise my face to the sky.
The colors take my breath away.
A living and breathing sculpture.
It entices us.
It bemuses us.
It challenges us.
But most of all,
it inspires us.
Portovenere, Italy ~ Luca Libralato
Brushstrokes of blue and gray
to outline the puffy clouds.
Broad swipes of teal and aquamarine
to meet the neverending horizon.
Swells of purest white
will rise from the blue depths.
As my fingers reach for the canvas,
my gaze travels to the brushes,
and I shake my head.
No painting is needed
to capture the perfect day.
I stare around me
at nature’s perfect handiwork.
Welcome the night
And its good friend, the moon.
Do not take flight
From the man in the moon.
Let the moon take over
From the sun’s bright reign.
Let the sun take cover
Without severe pain.
A thick blanket will fall,
Giving the earth security.
Darkness will cover all
With its fine grace and purity.
For the sun, no need to pine.
Don’t waste precious time mourning.
The stars will twinkle and shine.
The sun will rise come morning.
The tree appears dark and looming.
It could use some proper grooming.
I want to take a walk between its legs,
growing tall from the ground as giant pegs.
By its rules, we must strictly abide.
Imagine the secrets it must hide.
Come walk with me in its dark shade.
Through the fallen leaves, we will wade.
A canopy of leaves above our heads
As we fall asleep on our leafy beds.
Source:travel-story
The morning sun peeks through
the canopy of trees.
The blanket of color
covers me with its leaves.
I’m sheltered with
soft petals of pink,
like velvet sheets
splattered with pink ink.
I give a contented sigh
as my eyes soon grow teary.
A bed among the petals
offers rest for the weary.
The sun sets.
The animals prepare for the night.
The old elephant stands in his place.
He doesn’t need to move.
He has everything he needs.
He keeps a watchful eye
As he stands in his place.
SUSANNE LEIST 