the weight of it is too much sometimes,
reaching across that abyss to connect now and then —
the space between is a most uncomfortable place.
it is a labor to bear witness to our future,
to make something of it
so we suffer its birth with a stoic face.
but the time passes either way —
why not wild eyed and dancing?
Thanks for reading. Please clap, follow me or enjoy another poem.
🐝 beth
