The Fall

Flailing in the failing,
the cold drop of falling short,
I fling arms against the air
and cry a curse of every sort.
Tricks and traits to serve as bait
I employ to turn your stare.
My inadequate efforts founder,
like dust upon the air.

Bottom hits the hardest
on those who once could fly.
With a crash I learn I must accept
I’ve simply lost your eye.