Transcendence

That kind of dream —
You somehow know how to levitate.
Magically and wonderfully,
Just lift off the ground,
While peering down upon hapless mortals
Struggling to make their way.

An intoxicating sense of freedom –
In the air, no restraints…boundaries no more.
Daily cares long forgotten,
And you, an eagle, soar
A crescendo in a symphony.

Then, intensity breaks the spell.
You awaken…to lingering darkness
And feeble light from the window —
Icarus falls back to reality.

All Poetry — Henry Barnard

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