Tristan Robert Lange

Grounded

When we fly

We fly together,

Circling the sky—

Together of a feather

We fly

Until the autumn sun

Wanes in the sky.

But now,

We no longer fly,

No longer together—

Separate—

We are stuck here,

Perched on high.

Alone,

Watching the fall sun die;

With death looming over,

In streams of severance,

I cry;

I hope to return

To the freedom

Of the sky,

Before the sun’s

Final setting

And I

Die.

© 2026 Tristan Robert Lange. All rights reserved.

First published on tristanrobertlange.com, November 12, 2026.

Tittu