dream. . .

While I was watching an aerialist perform during one of the segments at the opening ceremonies of the Winter Olympics, it inspired me to write this poem about a dream that I often have.

I sometimes dream that I can fly,

A chance encounter with the sky.

My feet propel me off the wall,

On gentle breezes ne'er to fall.

I twist and turn amid my flight,
Soaring upward throughout the night.
I see the stars, with silver strands,
Their shining glow upon my hands.

I'm chasing stardust here and there,
A glowing halo on my hair.
The earth, a pearl beneath the skies,
Is silent now, no smiles, no cries.

The moon caresses me as I fly,
I take a breath, let out a sigh.
The shimmer of the moons sweet beams,
Brings me so close, that's how it seems.

I think I've touched an angels wing,
I've heard their song, I hear them sing. . .
A mesmerizing, lilting song,
I will be back, I won't be long.

On blessed wings I learn to soar,
My very soul at Heaven's door.
Moving air beneath my breast,
My dream is done. . .it's time to rest.