Flying

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There was a time when I,
Used to question how high I’d fly.
Not if u could to begin with,
But when I would,
And when I should.
There were no limits to be placed,
No questions to be spaced.q
The only thing that could seemingly stop ke,
Was if my well of glee,
Dried up;
Ran empty.
Maybe I’ll let myself fathom the idea of flying again.
It won’t be a question of how or when,
But of what I’ll do right after then.

Three Roads

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From where I’m standing,

I’m seeing three roads up ahead.

 

The first is the one I’ve walked down before;

Hardly can be called an eyesore.

I’m comfortable with said road.

But I know that it’ll lead to another crossroad.

I don’t think it’s the road for me.

I deserve more than what it’s capable of offering me.

 

The second is new and full of good times;

Good humor and plenty of laughs,

But I know that there will be a time to climb,

And a time of retreat.

Plus, I can’t really be discrete.

It’s the road for carefree youthfulness,

But probably past my time, in all truthfulness.

 

The third is the one that scares me,

As it is daunting,

Among other things.

It’s got me surely wanting.

There’s the need that has been reflectively vacant until recently.

But in all decency,

I cannot approach this road.

What kind of person would I be if I approached the unapproachable?

Or if I sought happiness, leaving another inconsolable?

Not what I built myself up to be,

That I know for sure.

But the third is the only one that can provide all that I need.

So I’ll turn back, and trace back my steps, with godspeed.