Maybe tomorrow

I used to run,  
used to play all day outside    
beneath a scorching sun.    
I was building strength      
while having fun.    
Losing hours, but still I'd won.    
Using new found power, finding    
new bruises in every shower.    
Climbing roofs to    
soak in views      
and getting grass stains each time I'd    
slide or plunge  
down green hills to catch that ball.    
New trails each day just for      
thrills, our goal after all.    
Street lights spoke to us    
before we had phones to call    
and we knew the drill.    
Hustle home on our bikes    
in summer's glow with basketballs.    
Tomorrow, pick up where we left off,   
by our last catwalk's climbing wall.    
     
Now I rot in a basement alone.    
Rigid legs and a wretched mind    
slowly carve      
my fate into stone.    
Wasted muscles and unused bones    
crave the strength to display    
those skills once honed.    
I often think back to those days    
in a daze, when energy blazed    
and a capable body made it's way    
anywhere imagination roamed.    
Now I complain that my plate's too full      
and my brains too dull      
to vacate this zone.    
I know it's not true,
it's just a feeling      
that seems to stay in the way    
of my escape from this wasted state    
in my childhood home.    
It's inspiration I'm thankful to have    
and I hate to loathe.    
Maybe tomorrow
I'll start it all again,    
rest my pen to have these withered feet    
hit those same old roads.