Tuesday, April 18, 2017

Glide

I stand on
the precipice,
looks like
a cliff,
but I choose
to see it
as a launching pad,
a runway.

I peer over
the toes of my shoes,
shifting my
body weight
ever so slightly,
and
gravity takes over.

I do not
fall.

I do not
fly.

I extend my arms,
as if on a cross,
and I glide,
carried on
the currents of
the wind,
trusting that I will
land

precisely
where I am
supposed to be.

9 comments:

  1. That's takes a lot of faith and trust ~ Even letting go is difficult ~ Good one Mosk ~

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  2. I think I've seen hang gliders do something like this. With my fear of heights I probably wouldn't get near the edge.

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  3. The glide of trust. Nice.

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  4. I've had dreams like this. Good ones.
    I like this poem.

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  5. I do so hope you do.
    Gliding can give one an inner peace, although not necessarily so...
    Anna :o]

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  6. and you probably will

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  7. I love that image of the cliff as launching pad. Nice poem. I enjoyed reading.

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