Grounded
A Poem.
Time fly’s by…
I try to catch it, but the ground won’t let me reach up that high, nor touch the sky.
Gravity.
Bound to thee.
I don’t know why I try with all my might!
I try so hard to get back to the spaces, and times that are not meant to be.
I try, but those spaces, and those times,
well,
they are not meant for me.
I am —
grounded.
Grounded, as I should be.
When I skate now…
the wind expresses its empathy for me.
Trying to catch up to all the passing years, because they seemed to have an awful hold on me.
My tears don’t fall as they used to, and my years don’t have to shed.
My mind is like this because it’s what I choose.
Rather, what I chose, I suppose.
Time fly’s, and I do not possess wings.
This is why I believe I sing.
This is why I hold onto every evanescing memory.
Cling.
Time fly’s, just as it is supposed to, you see?
