Believing We Can Fly...

do we stand on the floor of our thoughts?
in the basements of our heart?
or on the edge of the nest made of straw....
pounding our chests, believing we can fly?
do we stand on precept or illusion?
are mountains then made of sand?
and again chant the way of the gods,
'we feel with our thoughts,
and think with our hands'....
truth speaks in the unspoken,
and liberty is but remembering...
the best we can do a simple touch,
a farewell kiss, and....
a key to your most precious door!

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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