I think we’re sad because we’ve built ourselves prisons.
Tall, beautiful cathedrals with a vision
into what our lives should be
forever and ever, dazzling in the horizon.
They’re easy, they’re the same
until never becomes a day
leaning on our necks with the deadweight of knowing
that the mountains we raised from the depths are falling.
We’re sad because it’s evident
that there’s nothing in the space-time continuum
that will just, please, stay put—
pristinely, never-endingly put.
But, we try.
By building perfectly carved out shells
around our beating selves,
in miniature monumets of places, things and faces
that have long lived and left their moment.
They once-upon-a-time made us remember
what it’s like to float in the breeze above the great big ocean.
But now, they’ve faded dead.
It’s time to walk out these mansion gates.