maceeknox

Soil

I lie here,

Toppled.

But I suppose they had a reason.

I have, once again, been knocked down.

A pessimist I am not, but -

I will not get up.

Not this time.

I will rest gracefully below this sky.

I will study what I see.

And what I see above me are clouds.

In those clouds I see what I need.

But seems it is here -

Nestled in grass and one with Earth

Is what I want.

I ponder…

When my heart ceases to race,

When my heart ceases to be,

What time will the sun read in this sky?

As the wind envelopes and hugs what is left,

I ask that it sings such a hum -

That I am never truly gone.