Gravity's Well
Gravity fell, from its fundamental throne,
Being a blend of matter and motion.
As with time, if we take away what’s known,
Its attraction fades into oblivion.
It is already gone in my dream sleep
In which I float, fly, and hover at will;
But, upon awakening from the deep,
The super bed-gravity holds me still.
Instead of dieting, I live on the moon,
Playing golf, but the bunkers are so deep
I have to take some giant leaps until noon;
‘Though I love the freedom of low-grav feet.
If there were none, life could really be tough,
Our stuff floating away, what losing brings;
What a mess, although it might help those fluffs
Mercilessly dominated by material things.
If gravity’s of movement and matter,
Like time, it might be a new dimension,
So to speak, but may still need the other three,
Although it’s just the right dose of tension.
We can conquer gravity’s whole world round
By the mere lift of a little finger;
Yet we get hang-ups about our hang-downs,
And thoughts of what the hell it is still linger.