To soar above it all
Looking down
to breath it in
And spit it out.
 
The world down there
Playing out in the rhythm
of routine
It’s beautiful
 
The workings of a machine
well oiled well organised
It looks so small
Not bad at all.
 
Soaring and seeing it all
Through clouds and over grids
at earthscapes
Eventually this too will
get boring
 
Stopping and falling back in
without a splash
To become small again
Back on my machine.
 
Forgetting what i saw
Absorbed into its veins
Somehow a part of it again.