All Is Not Black Or White

I lay on the lawn.
Beneath me was lush spring grass.
Above the blueness looked to be unbroken.
It felt, as I looked out
As though this planet
Was a great wall behind me.
Like as if Velcro held me in place.
This felt like no other funfair ride.
This was definitely not centrifugal.
My body was flat on the ground.
The position was natural enough.
I saw ahead of me a vista of blue.
Then an airliners vapor trail
Drew a white line across the the singular palette.
That is high I thought.
Another not so high
Flew with no trail.
Altitude I supposed makes vapor appear.
There I lay as if I was pinned down by an unseen force
And in full sight of the Cosmos.
I looked out to the edge of my light.
Yet further, I sensed there was nothing between me and infinity.
Here was I
Attached to the surface of a ball,
Looking across,
Seeing and feeling out of my depth.
Me a mere packet of biology
And the universe all around
With its Galaxies
Spiraling out of control.
Where will all this end?
And at whose pleasure?
Then I dozed off.
A Holy sunny day.
A moment of less certainty.
All is not black
Or white.

©2019 Christopher Thompson
All rights reserved.

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