We come, young, old, etc.
Those observing must wonder
What common trauma unites, bonds
Brings us all together
- for this.
First day check-ins, eager grins
Wondering what the hell they'd gotten
For some it takes hours for others
Days but a week for all is
Plenty good to feel a sense of
Something you haven't
We sweat, we cry, we bleed one
Drop at a time confirming, affirming that
What makes this perfect is nothing
Than our own imperfections.
An observer might say oh:
Sweat, tears, blood - it's salt that
Brings you all here but they'd be dead
Wrong because it's the opposite of
It's the sweetness, the sugar the old
Folks called it, that thing that robs
Vision, limbs and even years from
But not here.
Here, we run we ride we jump we climb
Higher and further away, away from
Doctors from doubt from anything that says
Here, we laugh at our failures, here we
Ponder possibilities consider new
Realities and think only about
What if or what could or if we're feeling
- what will.
When it ends, we go back to reality. We leave
The common ground we return to
A world where many have our
Backs but few share
- our thoughts.
But it's funny.
I stand over the meter, the judge the
So-called interpreter of what in
The world I'm doing right and everything
- I do wrong.
And for a short time the numbers
Won't matter. If they are
High if they are low. A part of me will
You see: so long as the numbers are
Crooked, I will have a place to go where
No matter what I will feel
If they are wrong
I will feel
And if they are foreign
I will still feel