I've always enjoyed those dreams of flight
soaring through the world
between darkness and light

The air is always cool and the grass always wet
I climb through the trees
an artist without a net

Barely missing powerlines, branches and homes
like some derranged bee
far from the comb

Willing self skyward on improbable wings
only reckless thoughts
my crashing end will bring

This dream of mine so scarce, so grand
I sweeze my eyes tight
not to wake, not to land

Just a bit longer let me stay in this place
but the arms of night
have removed their embrace

Drifting downward, back into my bed
wishing and pleading
it was not only in my head

I push back the covers,facing the day once more
what do i spy
a feather! descending to the floor

I enjoyed this. I have always had dreams of flying and hate it when they end...lucky my landings are always soft.

Thanks.
I nomally don't write rhyming poetry, because it seems to forced. The first stanza came to me and I had to follow.