They say that whatever comes up
Must come down
But what about things that fall?
Is there some unwritten rule about
When they can come back up again?
When they can float higher
Chugging their way back up
To their former vantage point
Like a tiny carnival balloon
Lifted by its helium engine.
But when that balloon's engine stalls
It doesn't stay still in the air
It tumbles backwards, downwards
Falling ever so slowly
But undoubtedly earthbound.
And things that fall tend to keep falling
So that balloon won't rise again
Sometimes it feels like I won't either.
Maybe this is why this cavern of loneliness
Never seems to end.
Sometimes I doubt I'll ever
Find its bottom.