When I let things get to me
and checking out begins
to appear a viable option —
I think of slipping a little
yellow Piper Cub out of a blue
sky to a landing amid the green
fields. I want to fly.
I want to live.

When I let things get to me
and checking out begins
to appear a viable option —
I think of slipping a little
yellow Piper Cub out of a blue
sky to a landing amid the green
fields. I want to fly.
I want to live.

Posted in Poetry
What are your thoughts?