Each day somewhere between falling and gliding —
I guess that’s sliding —
The voyage is down, I know, but still,
Life goes where it will,
And the storms always come to menace us,
But that needn’t finish us.

Life is a playground, a swing set, a sandbox,
With blocks and clocks and short talks
About our misguiding;
And yet, we keep sliding
Down into adulthood
Which sounded better than it feels good.

The road, the hills, this landscape — our destiny;
At least, so it seems to me.
So, take it in; be flexible, versatile,
Rain is not personal,
Trouble’s abiding, and won’t be subsiding,
So just keep on sliding

Author: Beleaguered Servant

Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.

One thought on “Sliding”

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