Resting Below

And all the time,
Spent staring directly above
At the midday sky,
Waiting for emancipation
From the gravity
That life infringes upon us all—
Every queen and leader.

Be it in ignorance,
Knowing nothing but recurring patterns of grief,
Reflected in the ever changing clouds
And distant grey birds,
Tenaciously fixated.
That is all we know.

For at night,
We surrender,
Closing our eyes,
Resting in the sequence of doubt,
Awaiting the next unattainable distance
We foolishly perceive
So far above.

Yet all the while,
The strife for firmament
Is just an illusion.
And if we simply look,
At the grass plains,
The dusty ditches,
The old, tired streams,
Even mud and sediment,
We’ll see that sunlight gracing everything.
Freedom awaits,
Patiently,
In every detail of the humble earth.

For while the sky
Is always above us,
It is not meant to be held.