I let the sun hit my face, the soft affection of nature’s warm embrace.
The cool morning breeze blows past slower than usual.
It sweeps by as if entranced by some soft tune.
Where does this music come from?
Or better yet where does it end?
What place does it call home?
The place where it goes to rest.
Sometime in the near future maybe today.
I wish I could be whisked off and taken there.
Turned into a paper plane.
Just the wind under me and I’m taking flight.
Jetting off into the sunset.
Freedom come take me there.
I’m not even worried if I’ll be real one day.
A paper plane in the air.
The earth’s problems couldn’t hold me back.