Trimmed Roots

Here, where I stand
My toes do not grow roots
Nor do fingers branch out to fondle a stray cloud
Apocalyptic delays
But only a stone's throw away
Beyond that last mile my feet wished to tread
My mind sings in some weird claustrophobic notes
Would reach out, if I could
And cast in stone, these songs
That I sing and strive to forget
My only legacy to Gaia