When reality is straining

Me, and I flex,

I feel myself,

Fumble in life.

Then those tensions,

On taut strings that

Are but the windings of experience,

Shake, and then loosen.

Time, a measure of progression,

Tells me how long…

How long I have wasted,

And the moments I will gain.

Gravity, wielding me bounded,

Still does not hinder

The illusions of, when I lift my hand

To the skies, me grasping the stars.

So missteps in the dance

Are granted, expected.

To that constant, eternal beat,

I am ever moving forward.