Things look mighty different
When you’re high
In a sky
Scraping the upper limits of how high you’ve ever been
without someone scraping your knees in the aisle on the way to the toilet.
You look out from your lookout
Touch the glass and trust, you’ve got to, that the glass is sufficiently strong
And you’re safe but still a little queasy
As you look at the world below
As it passes and moves with absolutely positively zero regard for your observing it
And your gaze creeps to somehow within
As you gaze out as far as you’ve ever seen
To the places you were
To the places you’ve been
And you shake your head slowly
Sadly
Amazed
That you still aren’t clear
Will it ever be clear
As to what it all
Means.