balloons assigned to me at birth.
Multiple colors, shapes and sizes
always mindful of their care.
I preferred the pale pink of youth.
Fresh, innocent, I smiled broadly
as I held them high, when a young adult
I released them to the sky.
Grasping red balloons, much
harder to retain, these passionate
balloons pulled me in directions
where I shall not go again.
Thankful to trade them for the
green of adulthood, I released the red.
Raising family, financial stability, I busily
collected more and more balloons to
float above my head.
Vibrant blue balloons faded through the years,
calm, relaxed floated quietly above me.
Slipping through my fingers and flew away
one by one….
Forced now to carry black balloons in
stiff jointed hands.
These balloons don’t float away and
tangle in the trees.
These are fragile balloons of thin material.
I wrap the strings around my wrist
trying to hold on, and yet they
pop, pop, pop.
Each day a blessing 