When ceilings become floors

When ceilings become floors

They do not crash down as one would be subject to expect

Don’t be so blue

Limits are set by ourselves

That ground that you stand on

You can always push back up from it

The ceiling you stare up at

Is it a star speckled endless sky

Or just the glitter in the popcorn your grandparents found so fashionable?

Are you that bird that leaves an imprint of itself on paned glass?

Or did you aim true for the open air,

Not fooled by magician’s tricks?

We all have our rooms we are confined to

Our lives sprout upwards as living towers

Each landing, a room seen as a moment of our lives

There are no elevators, there are no stairs

Yet you must continue.

Will your once floor rise?

Crashing through what you once thought was your ceiling?

Propelling your own personal scraper, skyward

There is no top floor, no penthouse, no roof

But every so often, a window

And my god what a view.

Your Little House by the Bay

A Lopez is born to travel

We rise each day a bit more stubborn to unravel

We’ve gone through thick and thin

Finding life’s jewels and gems, no matter where we’ve been

We make a home in every motor and valley

Showing our love to every bowling alley

My Papa must have been the muse for such existence

A new place each day, the same love each morning, with only his consistence

You laid the foundation for the happiest place on earth and I’m ok with that cliché

Because you showed us all the rainbow and not the shades of grey

But I know there are some journeys that we cannot partake

Even through every protest that each of our hearts might make

I know you were off like a herd a turtles

But I wouldn’t put faith in any other man to overcome hurdles

So now the valley is truly silent

This world is far less vibrant

I hope that you’ve found your way

To your little house by the bay

Alan Lopez 8-28-14