There was a time my face glowed with pride.
I was sea foam on a rising tide.
I felt confidant in my shoes, I stood firm.
No one could topple me, nothing made me squirm.
But something, someone, somehow changed me.
Cut the cord of my balloon soul, and set me free.
Now I am floating alone in the breeze.
I can't choose where and I am going as the wind carries.
I am all but bare, my body open as a book.
One he reads every night but at it he can't look.
The pages torn, the binding ripping.
My heart, my body burning.
Upon a pyre of forgotten and pressing worries.
An infinity of sad, happy, scary, and depressing stories.
Who wants to be? When all there is, is grey.
No light at the end of the tunnel, no other way.
Told to look to the stars, but not to believe in the magic.
How can we when we live within a tragic.
Questions unanswered, lies like a plague.
Governments flawed, futures vague.
How can we go farther when we have not gone near.
Our paths are blocked not by the hooded figure of death, but of fear.