Out of breath.
Out of time.
Out of love.
Out of rhyme.
Out of water.
Out of luck.
Some days I'm just stuck, in this life of muck.
Life is a ripple in the sea.
Adrift on divine love, that can never be.
I wallow here, in this land.
Muddy muck, on face, shoes and hands.
Gunk forms on the soles of my feet,
keeping me pinned, grounded.
Squashing under foot,
put here, by chances I never took.
Let my mind drift for it travels far.
I go to places and spaces I never knew,
never wanted to see, was afraid to look.
Perhaps with some of them,
I will never see again.