Life is Ours to Miss

There's a tv running in the background

Some newsreel is playing for the 5th time

Because it's after 10pm, and

the story makers have gone to bed.

History is often said to have two sides

But I see a third untold,

And that one's mine.

What story is there to tell?

Besides wanting to say something.

Actually saying nothing.

No words escaping the cage in my chest,

Or the chains in my throat

That link to my heart

And jingle with nerves and fears.

I walk to my deck,

It's quaint and wooden.

Although others have no deck,

Mines barely here.

Anyways, I walk to my deck,

And I look at the garden.

It's a beautiful garden, filled with, flowers,

And things I never touch, but always say I'm into.

Anyways, I go to the stairs,

And I make the choice to walk to the garden.

But as I turn to the garden,

My body keeps turning,

To the side of the deck.

Instead of flowers there is dirt,

My hand grasps the rail.

We haven’t planted here yet.

My legs lift up.

I wonder what we should plant.

I feel myself cross the barrier.

Plants will never grow here.

And for a second, I fly.