The Sky is broken.
Split from seam to seam.
Threadbare, and aging.
But those who dare to dream will climb the clouds, ascend the heights where only God can fly.
And see it all from the other side an image you and I
Will never see.
Unless we choose to go, to venture out, or even try.
Or, will we stand, night after night,
With the multitudes in the cold moonlight
Who think they know what's over there
beyond the stars, the sunset fair?
Standing stoic, stern and sure, content in all they cannot see.
And, every morning walk away.
to live that day
and wonder why
Under the broken sky.

by Dennis Welch
August 1999