Bodies falling from the sky,
like drops of dreams,
like sweet lies.
and only with our souls..
we are able to fly,
fusing with the sky...becoming one.
In my dreams,
the sky is like a canvas,
my soul all colors,
and my body a feather brush,
in the hands of a blowing child.
I love life more than my own life.
To die we have to live,
to wake up we have to sleep,
to finish we have to start,
to leave we have to arrive,
these are the reasons why,
flying keep us alive.
My new thoughts, kill my old ones,
my new me, kill my old one.
We must dream,
to let the day die
we must fly,
to let our bodies disattach.
in the sky.... we set them free,
they never die,
they just go to another dimension,
like this...like there...like that.
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Comments about this poem (Sky Diver by Diciembre Aguilar )
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
Alfred Lord Tennyson
(6 August 1809 – 6 October 1892)
William Butler Yeats
(13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(30 October 1885 – 1 November 1972)
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