The flight

Why do planes fly with their wings all stretched out? 

With no trust below and all the height above but nothing to break their fall? 

How do they trust nothingness yet still they fly high in the sky.

 Was it trust or luck I guess I'll never know. 

The feeling of flying, of being free sets my mind to a place I could never see. 

Yet I ask how and even why yet the question will burn in my head till I die. 

I'll never be free, I'll never touch the sky.

 Why should I even try when all these feelings burn my skin like the fire of the sun and the heat of the wind. 

I should give up, I should quit now. 

Yet this feeling is staying somehow. 

I don't want to give up, I don't want to quit. 

Maybe one day when I'm free 

I'll take a plane to a faraway place and I'll live on the moon 

and every night you can see my face.