A Discourse on Momentum

I abide by the law of gravity
To stick always to the ground
And never to the sky,
For I fear that I would float away
To deconstruct this perfect scene
Where imperfection steals the stage.
I could lie in the crook of Atlas's arms
And permit his authority to govern
My corporeal character,
Despite my endeavor to keep pace
With the race of the moon.
A monsoon would further propagate
Such provocation of reaching the nation's shores
Upon the tumultuous swell
That cracks the Pacific sand like a slave.
The mythical mantra uttered,
My hands grasping new land
As the esoteric cloud coverage splits apart,
And the sky is endless, open, and blue.