Until Tomorrow

It's kind of nice how I quite often catch my feet not touching the ground.

One day, feeling the emptiness beneath my feet, I heard the question:

Where has all the love gone and what have we become?

Storm clouds full of thunder move silent as they drum and when they're gone,

we'll be fine until tomorrow, I hope it won't rain.

Because until tomorrow, I won't have the pain.

When my feet are inches off the ground.

It's as if I'm floating above it all.
The leaves will blow.

They will blow and roll and flow.

They will flow.

In the night-time breeze.

The peaceful, crisp, beautiful air no one seems to notice while stumbling through it.

They won't notice the little bench where a torn soul sits.
A soul whose feet aren't touching the ground.

Not until tomorrow.

So where has all the love gone and what have we become?

It seems to all be stuck between the bottom of my feet and this defiled ground.

Maybe we all need to notice our feet not touching the ground half as often as I do.

Can you feel it?

It's as if I'm attempting to push together the same poles of a magnet.

They resist.

Can you feel it?

I can.

Gently swinging these limbs, completely out of rhythm, feeling the friction.

The force of something that only the leaves and clouds can see.

Where has all the love gone and what have we become?

Faces full of sorrow look across places full of wonder, and once they stop thinking

we'll be fine until tomorrow.
Because until they stop thinking, they'll still think of the sorrow.

But in those places of wonder, as long as my feet aren't touching the ground,

I'll be okay until tomorrow.

J.