Sunday, December 29, 2013


Blue sky above--
I grope for a hand-hold. 

No ropes. 
Deep well below--
Will this toil ever end?

I've been on the edge,
Peering through the abyss. 
The water's covered me
When my last strand broke. 

Keep me on the wall. 
Keep me in my path. 
Only from my labor, can I
Ever hear the birds again. 

K. Yerton