Sort Of

The dawn crept, I dried my eyes and smiled for the pale blue world. Morning light lit the room. You feel this flame within fighting to burst and you hope it does. Fly out of me - explode, please. The pulsating,
Children run, feet (small strides) moved by joy, novelty is a great inspiration. (Treasure it, and create new moments when you can). Eventually you will be left enjoying memories, smiling at the timelessness of each familiar moment. Run, while your body can, dance while you have the energy.
You can fly without wings. Your heart pounds, each thought arrives without consent and a smile lifts your face, unbidden. A wild look in my eyes, ground touches feet but I am no longer grounded. I soar. And you, friend, still on the earth are left behind - for my moment.
We each are blessed with wings; mine: a pen (marker) and notebook, some a voice, an instrument, others running down a soccer field.
We misunderstand each other, you see me crouched over pen, shake your head. I watch you run, smile unknowingly. Though our mediums differ, flight we understand.
So, fall. Maybe you will break, or never reach the bottom, the wind around you, no breath left in your lungs, air hits across your body, a blurred silence. Fall and you might stop the fall with flight.