Poetry

In the skies

Fog and damp, a misty morning
Concrete and steel, rain-spattered glass
Heavy, dark clouds and gray is the grass
People trudging, faces full of mourning
Oppressed
And stressed
On every side

And then
The plane starts to rise

You pass through the veil, a sudden sensation
A moment of blindness, you look down below
It’s gone, covered in whitewashed snow
The blue sheet around, only sign of creation
All is peace
Endless ease
On every side

The plane starts descending
You’re still up in the skies

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