To Be

Can we think of two lines as two lines;

As the moon drops its umbilical cord

Toward our ever moving position of 

Humanity; searching, eroding, etching

Itself while the music plays on, as we

All dance with strings pulling at our shoulders.

We shrug a little, then rip

And tear at the mental notion of being

Clipped; our wings long ago vanquished

For another version of the life.