In skies of blue, I spy a speck of gliding brown;
It drops, then turns, the wind holding up its strong wings,
Then drops again to soar high, it moves up, then down,
But ne’er too low to seem a part of earth-bound things.
I gaze at the sight and wonder – that’s all I do –
Just wonder: what would it be like to be that kite?
Alone and high above ground, surrounded by blue,
To move through warm sunlight in an aimless flight?
No place to go, just soar and soar and soar higher,
A vast open with no limits, no goal, no end;
Not bound by chains, just a slave to my own desire,
Not ‘to be’ for a reason, or live to pretend.
edited 16th February 08