The Creator carries our plane like a Child and a paper plane.

Flying through the air.

Soaring above chaos.

Flying over war.

Crystal clear rains try to bring us down,

but the Child whooses our plane

through the mighty storms.

Safe but not unphased. 

Flying over sapphire bodies of water.

Over towers of emerald leaves.

Over tiny people trying to stay alive.

Brushing the tips of the plane's wings.

Gently passing over the towers of greed and labor.

Our plane, an Angel, is carried 

safely over battles and conflict,

too tiny to see, but enormous to know.

The Creator carries our plane

like a Child and a paper plane.