Where is the ground?

I'm sure it was there before. 
Some time.

Some time,or other.
Some time,
I felt grounded.
I know I did.

Felt sometimes safe. 
Always at home. 
Where is the ground now?
Where is the ground?

Some time. 
Not now, though. 
Not while I'm flying. 
I can't return while flying free. 
While I'm flying . . .
too near the Sun perhaps. 
Like the ancient Greeks, 
I'm flying near the Sun.

Did that father weep 
when his Son fell down? 
When he flew too high, 
when he lost the ground.

Like that Son so long ago, 
I fear that I've flown too far. 
Too far to save, perhaps, 
and always in the Sun!
Near to it. 
Drawn to it. 
Like the moth in search of fire.

Where is the ground now? 
I need the ground I think. 
Need it near me! 
Bring it back to me!  
Ground me.  

Ground me, 
but not too fast for falling. 
I could fall in just a second, 
I could fall
without a sound.

I would – 
Fall. Flat down.

Where is the ground? 
I would touch the sky today, 
but only if my feet could touch the ground,
and find me,

Where is the ground? 
Where is the Sun? 

Where is . . . 
comfort and conclusion? 
Where is my stabile new solution? 

Where is the ground?