The Glass Floor

Underneath me

is a glass floor.

If I looked down

I would be able to see

the world below

my sky-lit existence.

But I do not.



I look up

at the clouds,

the sky

and the trees

that have grown high enough

to reach the level

I reached

on the backs

of the plants below me.


Below me,

green tendrils

fight each other for supremacy.

It is harder and rarer

for one of those plants

to break through

the tight knit undergrowth.


It would be harder

for them to rise

than for me to fall,

I have more vines supporting and tying me

gravity is a powerful foe.


Each step I take forward,

each position I assume

is like a splashing ripple.

But even if it

would be better

for those below me

if I self-sacrificed

and gave where I am

to another.

I will not,

because I cannot let myself


and that could very well be

the problem.

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