Don’t you hate it when you start writing and end up hating it because it’s so forced? That’s what the start of this poem is. Trying too hard. Trying to make more meaning. Meh… Not going to finish it.
I stare mesmerized at the sparkling bubbles as they shoot towards the top of the glass. Free flying, released from the pressure of conical confinement.
I want to freeze this moment in time. Savour it. Commit it to memory to call upon when things are shaken with dark uncertainty.
Every intense thought of willing for pause goes unnoticed, and precariously the bubbles continue, not once defying the law. They are numerous and I am drawn to the enormity of this day.
The many years and carriers who have pocketed my bonding till pressure changes once more and we are released.
I am filled with gratitude. I could not have achieved, let alone survived the journey without them.