Paper Planes Fly Best in the Storms

Rocketing up, up, up and away-

isn’t it funny the further away it flies from us

the happier we are?

Soar, little one,

soar from my fingertips

into the world you’ll discover

is rancidly beautiful,

is horridly awesome.

Fly right on by

in the cloudy, grey skies,

open and wild and tremendously guile

then down into the world us little gods made.

Come, little one! -

come see the burlesque cities

and burning oceans,

and gasping children,

and tired mothers,

and hopeless dreamers,

and sad believers.

Come make expectations

of the winds and rains

only for Man to cause

an avalanche,

and a forest fire

(you know, the ones that singe

both your wings and everything else’s

as you and they fly by)

and a drought,

and a war or two,

or ten,

or a hundred.

Come be a part of the world we made,

the one we made just for you!

Don’t you just absolutely love it?

It’s all yours, don’t be shy!

Go on, soar! Fly!