Everything passes. It has to. That's the beauty and tragedy of it.
My eyes are dazzled,
blinded momentarily by the bright sunlight
when I raise my eyes to the sky.
Fascinated, I look on…
wondering what lies ahead.
The vastness entices me
beckons my thirsty soul with a promise of a brighter tomorrow.
And I almost spread my arms that I mistake for wings
as if to soar into the blue horizons
effortlessly, letting the winds guide me on.
But that dream, I know is a distant one.
Almost like a dying refrain
of a song in an alien tongue,
that had once perhaps twanged my heartstrings
but has long faded into nothingness.
Perhaps, I’ve gazed at that dream too long
to realize that it exists no more.
All that remains in its place is a vacuum, a numbness.
And when the dust settles at my feet in the gathering twilight,
There is a fistful of earth where I must grow my roots.