when there is always wind beneath your wings , and never ending blue skies above, its hard to stop flying, notwithstanding an end thats nowhere in sight ...

And at moments you stop, take a breath and look up,

to guage eerie depths, of the labyrinth around ...

A net so fragile, yet so vexingly taut,

starlit domes, and speckles of light ...

Mystery smiles, with an amused face,

Despair blooms, in grey greenish light ...

And you just wanto sleep, wrapped tight under sheets.

But there are dreams, of bright popping buds,