Dancing the edge

Tingling and tangling

Dancing the razor’s edge

On the weary toes of… hope

— 

Searching the dark winding

Passages wound

In the Lenten fabric of before

— 

Watching the whirring

Windmills of the mind

Step with Scheherazade

On to

The fragile stage of fate

— 

In the wind comes

The fiddler’s note

Carving the heart strings

Tidal pull

— 

And surging with Passion,

To bathe away doubt

Hung in a moment

On a bridge still to cross

— 

In the never ending

In between

Of the vital, living, now

— 

In the corner shop cavern

Of the aching heart

Searching the shelves

For that final ounce

— 

Wrapping it well

With a moistened

Tear stained bow

— 

And giving it anyway

Because…

— 

That is what it means

………… to be truly alive.

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