Flight of Fancy

Flight of Fancy

It’s not every morning that I wake to find,
Without the aid of wings, jets, or anything—I can truly fly,
I would normally be terrified under these strangest circumstances,
But this has been a dream of mine since I was dressed in Pampers;

I hover out of bed, and out a second story window,
The yard beneath me shrinks while the birds above me winnow,
I can see these proudly plumose fellows are more than a little surprised,
To see a groundling such as I, to flaunter my unthinkable flight;

I wave gregariously at my newfound feathered friends,
And we soar ‘cross the open skies before I rise into the stronger winds,
My company now departed, I feel not the faintest trace alone,
These downy clouds in cotton splendor will make a splendid home;

I stand atop the world below, and survey all the land,
And I know I’ll never return my feet into the soil’s hands,
Having reached a height most satisfying, I fashion there a cloudy throne,
And sitting in my stately air, I lay a cloudy crown upon my dome,

I’m King of the highest spaces; I’m the Ruler of the skies,
And there’s not a corner of the world that escapes my open eyes,
I never want for sleep or food, or any requisite of man,
For spirits never want such things, and there’s no denying what I am.

Written by Josh Monk
October 12, 2009