I wonder what happens to balloons
when someone just lets them go.
Exactly where do they fly off to,
where precisely do they go?

I watched one float away this morning
into the vast sky and bright, rising sun.
It disappeared from my sight quickly,
and I noticed it was not the only one.

Hundreds were let fly at that very moment
from boxes at a nearby event.
They scattered off in all directions,
and like the one, I wondered where they went.

I asked myself if they are like the famous
who prematurely pass from our lives?
Or the childish notions taught us that we cling to,
like, “Love thy neighbor,” and, “Don’t tell lies.”

Maybe they all float off to form rainbow clouds
in that vagueness called Make Believe.
Where platitudes are strewn lavishly about
like, ‘All are created equal,” and “All should be free.”

It all sounds good in the narrative,
but is contradicted by all that is apparent.
For all the balloons just rise until they pop,
then they’re gone, and now irrelevant.

M. Zane McClellan

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