Going Home

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Over the valley, I go. 

Out of reach from the sea of hands below. 

The music of the air keeping me afloat.

A melody familiar to me alone.

Envious of fearing heights, I look down.

Seeing all the hands who've touched me.

Many I fail to place faces to. 

It's harder the more I float away. 

I don't try to remember. 

As I move through cloud layers, 

The hands below become dirt. 

Averting my gaze upwards, 

I see the hands awaiting me above. 

And the faces of those I love. 

What a journey it was. 

To leave all I was unfamiliar with. 

Reaching out, 

I wonder why I was ever on the ground. 


-Verdure 


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