(Be)Longing

I can’t keep up,
time runs too fast.

Leaves sprouting,
turn verdant green,
then yellow and crinkly
without me noticing.

I’m always too busy
earning my wages.

Life feels like a pity
when it’s nothing more
than sterile labour,
a matter of functionality.

I viscerally need
all my senses pleased.

I want to run in fields
with bare feet,
feeling the earth
beneath me.