T A K I N G ^ F L I G H T

Offshore wind

Sprints and skims

Over the water’s edge

As if it were a sea-green tarmac

Taking flight into the Adriatic

Pulsating in ripples

Striding into the horizon

Never drawing breath to look back

Unperturbed by the unpromising stratus ahead

For that formless mass shifts too

Waning before my fixated gaze

Herded along by the wind himself

A southerly fellow

Set about to interrupt the haze

This wind does not howl

He bellows deep

He swells a mood

As a baritone horn finds its tune

Fallen autumn leaves pirouette skywards

Swept up by the choir

The hairs on my head windblown

Awakened with regained purpose

Heralding balance soon to be restored

A sunset is happening back there

Obscured by Poseidon’s petulant ire

I’ll bear witness to it soon

If not now, well when time is due

A cerise halo on horizon peeps through

A beacon from Helios to say

He and his sunlit chariot

Are on the move

The tarmac is ready

Calling for lift off

Over yearning

Windblown

Cerulean

Hues

Helios and his sunlit chariot are on the move
Helios and his sunlit chariot are on the move
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About the post

Poetry

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