Cloud Nine

The only "positive" poem I have ever written.

I'm washed away by those white tipped waves,
Hidden behind your empty brown eyes,
I'm trapped inside those tiny hands,
Innocent as a baby's,
That I'm so scared of corrupting,
But I can't let go;
They're all I've got.

And although those hands don't hold me
High or even close enough for the world to see
If you've turned those beanbag dreams
Into something more than a mere fantasy
I keep my hands clasped onto your index finger
Not in fear of falling
But in hope of feeling something
Real.

I'm floating away on half smiles and silent glances
As time comes to a halt
You watch as my small existence fades away
But I still can't remember
How to make time
Begin again
And I'm getting scared
Of losing you,
A feeling I've never felt before.

You begin to chase after me
And the minute I am in arm's range
You pluck me off of my cloud nine
Placing me on your shoulder
For the rest of the world to see
You just can't let me go.