This man says
all in the forest fall up.
I want to fall up,
but how to get there?
A terrible yellow ceiling of sky
dampens all my fuses.
If I can’t fall up,
can I tell you how down is?
Pride drives me.
She uses trinkets of activities
that show I am clever,
but she defiles my soul,
draws me in every time.
Maybe this time it’s okay
to feel magic in my steps,
but I’m tainted by yellow.
I have nowhere to fall.
stillfugue 
#1 by Carl D'Agostino on December 12, 2011 - 8:31 pm
I really do like the idea of “falling up”. At a minimum we can try to make every set back another step to reach up knowing now what we did not know before. It’s a process.
#2 by Carl on December 14, 2011 - 9:08 pm
I think you’ve reminded me about process before, Carl. I need that. Thank you for commenting.
#3 by sixthsymph on December 13, 2011 - 12:36 am
I can really relate to this poem: pride driving one towards climbing ever higher, or ‘falling up’… Interesting, sad and very beautiful read!
#4 by Carl on December 14, 2011 - 8:57 pm
Thank you so much for your comment. I appreciate it.