Standing there at the edge
You want to walk on those floating words to the place you belong
Your setting is not the same as it used to be, as you want it to be, as it should be,
But is it you or someone else who activates the tremors that crumble the walls of your history?
For years you seem to flounder on the rooftop with embryonic change in gestation,
No arrangement of letters so far have induced the birth that will aid in levitation because you don’t know how to believe, how to push all the way.
The people on the ground tell you what you already know:
“Leave! your house is one of many on fire.”
But you ignore the smoke and throw away lines secured by hashtags to your neighbors,
telling them to forget their luggage and high-wire from their ledges to freedom.
Yet, the fleeting fulfillment uplifting others gives you cannot douse the familiar flames at your back,
Stronger, closer, perhaps seconds away from melting you, finally, until you’re nothing but a monument —
Of which they will say “Here lies the unnamed, an example of how not to live.”
So that is what we are today?
Those who live by the word
And those in their searing shelters
Throwing or catching ropes of quotes they will never walk on.