Most days at 1 o’clock in the night, I sit on my rooftop all by myself watching planes as they come by and disappear into the dark lonely sky. Some days, I write.

As the birds they glide,
Over the tower of pride,
And the tiny li’l pearls,
Of the town,

I gaze at the skies,
And the stars so wise,
And my fears of this world,
Die down.

The might of their roar,
As I watch them soar,
Calms the riots that burn
Through my heart,

Like the songs so mild,
Sung from mother to child,
Till the ghosts in his dreams
Do depart.

Oh how keenly I yearn,
To the skies to return,
The rush of the winds,
‘neath my wings,

High above the tower,
Its pride dwarfed by my power,
For I am the one,
Who now sings.