Saturday, May 13, 2017

Writing Byte #15: Flying High

The air rises where black tar and yellow meet,
Though still, Atmosphere rages with oppressive heat,
A hazy glare looking up at clouds and blue arches,
Reflected light projecting wet to dry desert ditches.

The space is silent, not a caw or bray,
Anticipated breath, held trapped to say,
Whoosh! as the car whizzes wildly by,
Smothered moment let out, one relieved sigh,

The child laughs, holding tight, as the car steers away,
From home, responsibility and childhood play,
With the rules, the chores, the parents that tie,
on seat belts and knee pads, all kept risk-shy.

Freedom is found, with a key and front seat,
As birds fly up high and planes ascend feet,
A child, a student, an adult not yet grown,

Finds wings and flies off with the roots that were sown…

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