Standing on the precipice,
Gravity pulls, my bones compress,
Wind rising from beneath,
Freedom screaming, “Take a leap.”
A few steps back, then start to run,
Jump off the edge, into the sun,
Hang for a moment, my senses quail,
Before the wind does kiss my sail.
A thermal rush, straight up I rise,
The Earth recedes before my eyes,
Into the blue that fills my mind,
The pull of gravity, long behind.
Turning left, a sweeping lilt,
The ground below a patchwork quilt,
Like majestic Andean condors,
Across the sky, my spirit soars…
A slow descent back to the ground,
Never want to come back down,
Another updraft, catch one last wave,
Before reclaimed as gravity’s slave.
Contains prompt from
Eugi’s Weekly Prompt.
Date: 2022-03-17 | Theme: Soaring
Photo Credit: 1. Sandid | 2. Unknown
Copyright 2022 Greg Glazebrook, All Rights Reserved.