35,000 feet above the snow drenched mountains of Colorado. I jot down the opening lines of a poem I might someday write, but doze before much comes out. The words sprawl lazily across my notebook, then trail off the page as sleep comes...

The Rockies and the Colorado RiverSOMETIMES...

Sometimes I feel like a slingshot, hurled,
Flung far into the void.
At last come to rest on some distant shore.

Sometimes I feel like a banner unfurled,
Hoisted aloft, heraldic,
Your victory to proclaim in some distant war.

Sometimes I feel like a child, curled,
Asleep in your arms, Beloved
Dreaming of promises made I can't ignore
Hearing You say "Awake! You must do more!"
Dreaming of promises made in lives before...

    – Jogyata. (Source)