There is always the sky,

the blue yonder up high.

Always visible by day,

all-surrounding by night.

It brightens our mood by letting in light,

and allows us to run free as our kite.

It is never the same sky as the day before,

its clouds different to all of us, day dreaming all the more.

Its ever-, and yet, never-constant scenery never a bore.

It represents what we want,

the ability of flight, something we faunt.

We all want to be as the birds,

but even science has failed us, as so many theorems and words.

When inspiration is what we seek,

the stars beyond it show us as weak.

The sky is so lofty,

that we place it as above worldly.

The earth we can explore,

so we place hell down below in its core.

The sky where we place heaven so it’s hard to get,

that one day with God we could have met.

Why is it that on the ground, we marvel the sky?

Yet, in an airplane, we adore all the earth within our sight?

But after sitting and take-off is nigh,