Slippery Rope

Seeped inside of the cemetery gates in search of the dark shadow, fighting for answers to the problem, questions stuck on the tip of the arrow, pulled the string and hard felt thoughts came gushing out, the shadow has cast a long dark spell to kill any kind of doubt.

Slipping into a coma, many a year went lost in the search for hope, the beginning of the new morning sunlight and kept hanging on to the rope, for the chance went by, tried to climb on the top found the graves in the dust, thought for a fresh battle, took the blade out to saw covered in aged rust.

And then there you are hiding behind the fallen leaves of the building, greyed out by the passing by wind and the turbulence of the nasty upbringing, insomnious by the obvious fact that the vision had a serious flaw, it was kept under the bridge as the writer was struck by the mystic awe.

Ballooning out of the crowd, mobbed by his own thoughts sunk in the drought, chaos in the hours and the greatest strength helpless in the labyrinth of thoughts, elementary surprise at every footstep, hard-earned glories washed away in every bite, threaded and loosely hanging the smile and the last gasp, it was time for one last fight.