Dreams

I spent an hour maybe more

Lying flat on the floor

There’s a small hole in my ceiling

And right now it’s raining

There’s a light plat on my head

As the water from the clouds are shed

But I can see through this little hole

A whole new world I want to roam

I want to see the world from a cloud

Riding high and looking down

I want to give rain to the plants

Life to the animals and the ants

I want to control the breeze

Blow the salty wind over the seas

I want to live in a castle in the sky

A castle plush and white

I want to see a tree grow so tall

It tries to touch me before it falls

I want to lower the London fog

And blow away the world’s smog

All this, there is no greater joy

But alas, these things even the birds can’t enjoy

Until  I can live up in the weather

I’ll have to lay here on the floor where I’m tethered

Staring up into the sky

Waiting for a cloud I can ride

Behind the Poem...Being Outside

I don't like storms at all - I never have. They're loud, they're often dangerous, and my shoes get wet. Buy what I do really love is the sky. I can spend hours watching clouds and staring at stars  on a (non stormy) night. At my work, we have two glass doors at the front, the reception area, and then my office behind that. My office has a big window in the front I can look through to the glass doora, and sometimes when I feel like I've been sitting in dimness for too long, I'll just stare out that door hoping to glean the tiniest percentage of vitamin D. It just doesn't feel good to not be outside amongst the breeze and the trees and the birds and the sun and the grass.

I spent a summer at my mom's house in Missouri where her and my stepdad have several acres of pasture. Nearly every night I would go out walking in that pasture just to get some space and be outside. And when you've been staring at the stars for three hours, your mind goes to every corner of mystical magic possible - wondering what these are, where they came from, can I have one? Someone throw a rope down please, I think that one right there would make a good pocket star. I'll take good care of it - I'll feed the fire some wood, I'll keep it warm, I'll never lose it. 

That's what this poem is. The ponderings of a 16 year old girl walking around at night and wanting the sky. I don't make a point of going out so much anymore, but I should. And the few times I do, those ponderings always follow me. 

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