point of return

I would fly up, to the clouds and sit on their edges and look at people talk, move and love like ants.
Then I would dive down to run with wolves, kiss the tree and fear a beetle tramping above my dungeon in the ground.
Oh, youth.
But times these days... times are a changing.
The level of the bed stays the same.
With comforting walls around.
Torn.

With the flu I rose to the ceiling, and watched and waited for this to pass.
I was ready to meet the point of no return, if it was not for your arms.
But you were there and so I am here.
For being torn between worlds.
Times are a changing.
For whatever.