The ice is splitting and spindling below me,
as the sun soaked sky cries.
Why must we learn to slowly trip and slide across the thin surface,
before we can smoothly glide by?
I often recall and reflect,
more often than I should,
while trying to get out of these icy situations,
but the truth of the matter is,
dreams are hopes of the past.
There comes a time when we need to replace the deceased,
learning,
growing,
teaching.
I for one am kicking and screaming at the chance to stay young.
Too bad the ice has broken beneath me.
