The Trees Canopy grows, and changes colors with the seasons, but never forgets what shade it was.

He feel asleep a young boy,
and woke up a young man,
removed the sheets from his body,
and stepped onto that cold, wood, floor.
Dusk and dawn collided out his front door,
he, in a trance, danced to the edge,
of a small cliff a few hundred feet from his home,
sitting he grabbed a handful of sand,
and let it drift through the cracks in his hands,
catching the sweet spring breeze that chilled his bones.
He began dropping small rocks off cliffs edge,
and heard each one klip and klop to the bottom,
with each small sound growing fainter and ever so distant,
like his memories, and his past.
Aging and falling farther from the surface,
getting away from the ground it once called home,
spinning wildly away from its dreams and hopes,
forgetting its useful existence as a mere grain of sand.
Faster and faster it goes, picking up speed,
and at its furthest point away from both surfaces,
it reaches a terminal velocity, until it comes back to its original state,
hitting hard, yet sitting back on earth.
That young boy now a man, and that man still a boy,
listens to those sounds to understand,
that we are alive once,
and then, well maybe, just maybe, never again.
Gravity seems to have that effect,
A lust to hold us close,
praying for us to just let go.