Balloon
Aurora roaring over Norway nights
Sweeping over the black evil from West
Avoiding the tangling grasp of all
His henchmen, dark and tall, unlike the roots
Of which they take the shape and character.
Like Ursula’s poor, unfortunate souls
They reach for the life swimming above them.
Their questions taking shape in the night sky
“Why’d we make deals with the Devil?” they ask.
“This isn’t worth what we traded at all!”
A sheet of cotton is unrolled for miles
But in some places it is stretched too far
Leaving a shining balloon without string
Lime light illuminating the latex
An eerie comparison to the white.
Midnight blue almost lost in the battle
The glowing hook drawing in from the East
To capture the tornado, currently
On the lamb-tired of not being alone.
Always ignored by the majority.
Glitter in the sky barely shining through
Can’t be magnified against the grand waves
Weaving through like a little girl’s ribbon
That the wind blew up and carried away
Somewhere in Norway, a little girl cries.
Soon the moon will loom into the night frame
And cast away the engulfing lime light
And push the henchmen back into their holes,
So the balloon can rise without damage
And sail away to someone else’s sky.
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