He plods with heavy steps Laden down by the memories of brighter mornings When the curtains would open to the Sun’s ****** rays Striking his face with glowing force Knocking him from his sleepy perch Sending him tumbling, smiling Through the giddy fall of day.
On his way he passed bright things. Things that make him want to risk the fall To surge forth and cling onto this shining view of fields Caressed by a teaming blue ribbon of fire. Or that tinkling, joyous, feminine giggle Heard as the heat of an afternoon Of early summer presses on his back The throng of a crowd surges about him, A million island universes all striding about their tasks The comforting presence of all that strong, purposeful flesh Swimming in never-ending eddies around him.
His mind may scream ‘Reach out! Grasp at this shining moment, this fickle mote For it is rare and precious!’ But the fall cannot be stopped.
Should he succumb he is left spinning downwards Watching, through clouded eyes, this glowing thing shrink As it passes noiselessly upwards His back burning and his limbs Nearly pulled from their sockets. And he mourns, until he catches the next glimmer And his eyes fill with light once more.
No, he discovered long ago that all things turn to smoke. It is better to sit back in comfort and watch with a lazy grin Than squirm and flap and curse your way to the bottom of the fall.
The bottom. As the glimmers fade, it comes into view. And the youth, at monstrous speed, would strike this bed Of black feathers, sinking deep into their fluttering embrace And several times, as one, they fling him up, Til he floats back down with ease And comes to rest And waits to wake once more.