Poem: Far Gone

 

Far Gone

 

slight tilts of wind

sculpt subtle contours

when my palms are feathers,

so i imagine, and i am

above this perched boulder, not on it,

and cannot fall.

 

no death here,

for to soar as i am,

i must have died already.

there is no weight,

peace all around, depthless,

celestial in a pagentry of blue.

 

so high above,

my own antics now minuscule,

i forget about competition.

none of the fussy worries

of ego or money.

 

suddenly it becomes

all too natural to ask why,

and then not care.

to focus, instead, on a gift

which no one caught in the

valley of sprockets below

can see.

 

it isn’t fair.  how my urban life

is so easily destroyed,

doomed now to watch the

prophecy of countless people,

toil-bound within the rich anxious city,

never again to believe.

 

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