Wednesday, August 6, 2014

On Thread So Delicate

Oh what control we imagine we hold,
Over the ephemeral breath of existence.
Certainty taken for granted,
Certainly shall not remain complacent.

Reality, hardly known for its patience,
Or for its modesty in imposing requests upon us,
Dictates life with an iron fist,
Shackling all traces of our rebellion.

But all that is needed for an encounter of loss,
Is a moment’s passing,
A moment not even marked by ostentation,
Albeit so adept at catching us by surprise.

For all the confidence we imagine we hold,
Is a beautiful illusion, enveloping us from an insight
That we all but walk a perilous journey,
On thread so delicate and bare.

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