Hanging by needles thread,
Finger tips whitened like rope silk spiders web,
Webbed single strand of hair,
Loose, Loose and threadbare.
Rope a flame is lit,
Lit by memories shame,
It burns these bloodied palms,
There is no more bloodied grip to gain.
One slightest tilt I’ll be cast down into shadows,
Shadows, shadowing their casting flowers do wilt,
The long drop delayed by a crushing,
A crushing sorrows guilt.
Fragile and weak
Outlook as cold as winter is bleak,
Summer days a memory too fragile,
Too fragile a memory to speak.
I keep this match flickering
By its golden ruby side,
It’s fading on the edge
But remains flickering,
Flickering, I remain alive.
There is still strength in these bloodied palms
Muscle and sinew secure these bloodied lactic arms.
Gritted teeth, fermented eyes,
I only look skyward towards blue,
Blue tearless skies.
I’ll continue this climb upward,
Up this darkened rise.
Ahead there is only blue,
Blue only skies.
Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.