A is for

[ceramiclifestyl]

acrobatics
the beloved form
flipping, flailing
through the arms of gods
we twist to reach
fingertips

the altitude is
like a spiderweb,
delicately holding with deadly accuracy
the space between

it shines in the light,
while the black widow is busy twirling
the strings
in preparation
for the ever-changing windows of existence

the widow with her black eyes
sees the wasp flying free,
its ribbed yellow exterior fearsome to so many
but she knows that one day, he'll be bound in that web
helpless, she'll take care of the rest

And the unsuspecting child who plays in the sand
will grow up without knowing that one wasp
flying, so free
now trapped
could have ruined that very day

And with age, comes dilution
of the pure water we drink
all the realities become illusions
and the thirst you once had
has blown away with the sands of time

Yet while we may have lost
the child within us
in the amusement park of life
we can still look
in that unforgiving crowd
to catch a glimpse

gotta keep twisting ourselves in knots to keep our shoes on

while the world is seemingly in a race for the finish line

and before the water turns to poison

we can take our time

~

it doesn't always take a worn-out heart to find its final resting place
but while you can

stretch your body over the candle of our existence