Free

When the sky above me is torn open,
my hands reach to grab the sunlight.
Warmth radiates into my fingertips,
spreading through my body.
There's an old man waiting for me.
He says that I've done wrong.
Sending me back down to the dirt
where my feet can touch the ground.

I still want the sunlight,
and the moon shuns me every night.
So I sit alone with dirty knees,
and watch the world float up.
Up into the sunlight where the man says
I'm not welcome.
I stretch and lay back...
Let the dirt be my home.