The tightrope taunt,
a narrow line on which to tread,
and we hang on by a thread,
this demarcation of extremes,
to remain, to fall,
to abide fear or ignore the possibilities,
just we, alone, on a tightrope.
The more we fear,
we flail and in tears doubt our stance,
the chance of staying
becoming remote, our balance
the totality of our perceived reality,
and we shake and slowly let go,
the hopes we had.
The abyss greets us,
a broken being disarmed of hope
and without strength, no way to remain
upon that thin rope,
that path of choices we call life,
and so bruised and battered we cope,
dream of finding another upright path.
Balance haunts our every waking moment,
to persevere or with fear dissolve our will,
and fall to beginnings over and over,
our struggle our fate it seems,
not proffered from our dreams
but our nightmares,
and soon we wonder why?
The rope may be narrow,
but that’s because we are dulled by uncertainty,
and that rope is a path, a bridge,
and if each step upon it is taken in certainty,
then falling suddenly becomes an absurdity,
a pointless game
when life offers far more than one narrow path.
The tightrope is for learners,
two choices clearly offered,
and it is our belief in ourselves that provides balance,
as that thin rope becomes a broad path,
that opens up into many choices,
and in certainty we may discover,
the simplicity of truth is pervading.
Tony DeLorger © 2018
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