Prometheus

 

Prometheus

 

I gave you the ability to burn bridges

completely aware

of the consequences,

 

but

under the calculated assumption

that remaining still was effortless.

 

I mean,

after all,

it was supposed to be

a fundamental law of physics,

that all things are to remain still

unless otherwise beckoned.

 

I had imagined the weight of time

to be as light as the weight

of your head leaning against my shoulder;

 

it was never about rehabilitation anyway.

 

I just wanted to stop the bleeding.

Pushing time forward

would mean the burden of starting over.

Healing was for the sole purpose

of feeling once again

the sensation of getting your heart torn out.

 

But time is spilling over

from its hands

with the casual inevitability of a water mill,

rolling downhill

with the ferocity of a train.

 

What good is it

for the soul to resist,

to peg your feet against the tracks

and hold out your hands?

 

To step back

behind the yellow line,

and let go,

your face in the window

blurring into the grand scheme of things.