My jet lagged eyes are heavy with
Not knowing
If they should sleep
Or wake.
I hold them open to
Begin another day in this
Distant world.
It is glorious to see an
Exotic land filled
With its own kind of
Beauty that is, indeed,
Foreign to me.
So I am drinking it in with
All of me,
Letting it fill my senses
To the brim.
Sometimes to overflowing.
All the while I carry a
Passenger of sorts:
A kind of stowaway
Who whispers in my ear
That all is well,
Another pair of eyes
With whom I long
To share each moment,
And whose image I will
Gladly see each time I close
My eyes again.
~ By Stan Stewart
~ Copyright © 2013 by muz4now, inc.
Beautiful poem! I feel the same way about flying into places. I kind of don’t want to do it anymore. I think by boat or train is better you can slowly slip into the culture and light. To just PLUNGE into it for me makes my mind fuzzy and I get overwhelmed.
Hey, Jamine Kyle,
Great to have you drop by. I still love to travel and will probably still fly … even though … And obviously, I really hear you about the fuzziness.
Look at it this way: it gives me stuff to turn into poetry. 🙂
Playful blessings,
Stan