Spun Silk

I walk a fine line
Strung across a chasm that seems
To go on forever
 
There was a time when my world
Was shrouded in fog,
Everything clearly defined
Within my fishbowl,
Where I became accustomed to the sting
Of brine in my eyes.
 
The murk swirled around me like ink,
Impenetrable —
I could not see the bottom
I could not see the other side,
I did not know you were there —

But the whispers
Drifting past my consciousness,
Of things I dared not dream,
Hung in the curtains
Like dust clinging to pretty lace,
And I assumed someone — someday — 
Would collect them
Within cupped hands, 
Like berries from the vine,
For they were not mine
 
And then the winds changed,
A gentle zephyr —
Hardly a ripple in time —
Kissed my skin in passing
And the fog drew back
Like the skins of an onion
Until I could clearly see
Beyond the glass of my confinement
From whence I found myself looking
Into my own eyes
 
The line stretches forth
Like silk, spun,
And I may make a precarious sight
Step
After step
But I feel the heartbeat
Through the soles of my feet
And I will not fall







december 2011

 



Awarded by Poetic Constellations ~ Bri~ January 9, 2012