PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Fleshy gates were swinging closed
to stop me as I tore through sheets
of spangled silver, framed in black,
that held these two balloons to ground.
Hands have strength that's bound to serve
and serves so well to free the swells
that lift me far beyond my pitch
where those who dwell below can't hear.
Fingers dig and teeth were sunk
into the hide to switch the drift
to something more aloft, at least
'til I've risen past the shallows.
The blue gives gradual way to none,
contrasted by these distant stars
that may have died or been a lie
but cannot be identified.
The ceiling which was never there
could save me as I'm taken far
beyond the scope of navigation,
above this nebula of truths.
And when I view its swirling face,
tortured by its beauty postured,
I'll entertain the ledge I hold,
wishing it would catch me, should I fall.