my feet on the road marked neat by ancestors
and ancestor’s ancestors.
I feel a twist,
a scrunch in my gut, a tension in my brain, a convulsion in my spirit
pushing me against the fourth wall, reminding me of its presence,
of its invisible impenetrability.
I feel the wind wish me back
to building blocks and train tracks;
the horizon looks so far and so improbable
as if the very ground and sky became illusions when they met.
But my foot itches.
It tingles with energy from heel to toe to knee to hip to brain.
I feel my momentum sway towards the unknown
to push against the grain.
A primeval urge. An instinctive itch.
I feel my trigger finger twitch.
As swirling skies light up ahead
and lead me towards hardship
to what’s worthy of a lifetime
of my time
of the time
the time being now.
To throw into the abyss
everything I’d miss,
it’s time to take the risk;
because the clock won’t wait and neither will I
so let’s break the glass limit we call the sky
and burst into vivid colours of incredible hue.
To explode into light and marble arches
to build great cities on our backs
have music fall from our lips
and paper lifetimes from our finger tips.
Our eyes will redefine vision
our brains recreate thought,
we will be what it means to be
and be struck down in immortality
of various scale.
The greats aren’t great because they were great at trailing behind
they were called so great because they redesigned.