Flight of Inspiration

No ceiling here; the pure high air is sweet,

Glide silently through clouds without a sigh,

Through winter chill or searing summer heat,

You cannot hope to know until you try,

Above grey clouds, you'll soar in flight at last,

Take a flaming chance and roll the dice,

Bright feathers grow, your fledgling wings spread fast,

The life before you is your paradise,

You feel the many weary hours worn thin,

To distant mountain heights, you cannot gauge,

All that you want and need is named a sin,

Open the book of shadows; turn the page,

Close fast the iron door; turn out the light,

On swift storm, winds soar jubilant in flight.