We are gods

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We are gods, aren’t we?
Soaring above puffs of white
Dyed gold, orange and shades of grey
As the sun illuminates the filmy vista.
It’s easy to be a god
When your dominion is this puff-scape
Where all is peaceful
and beautiful
and full of wonder
and it feels
Like we are power-full
of boundless potential.
If we can do this,
Soar here, then
We are gods, aren’t we?

But as we traverse the gauzy base of this dominion
Our godly vessel tremors,
Our grips tighten ever so slightly on our thrones
And we are reminded of our mortality.
Reminded that we are not indeed full of power
And there is a distinct lack of peace,
beauty,
wonder
In the land to which we must eventually return.
We are not gods.
The journey above the puff-scape
Is but a brief escape from the world of our making.

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