Poetry

Poetry Weekly: 30/01/20

Written by Spyglass Admin

The Fall by Esther Arthurson

Taking the hand extended to me –
No thoughts, no doubts, no hesitation –
I leap

Never having felt so free, I fall.
Never wanting the sensation to end, I fall.
Always downwards, I fall.

And still, my hand in yours.

Searching for a glimpse of something in the darkness
as I fly –
further, faster –
Nothing.

Then the panic takes hold.

First, second guessing and
A thousand “what if”s
As every fleeting suspicion I never had
Replays in my fevered mind,
I thrash around
In the wild hope
of catching myself before I meet the ground,
But it is too late –
Too far, too fast, I fall.

And still, your hand in mine.

There is no bravery in blind trust.
Wanting to believe and believing? They are far from the same.
False hope can prove fatal, and yet
Where would we be without it?
Perhaps it is not always entirely false.
Perhaps one can lead to another.
Perhaps it is most cowardly to have no faith at all.

And still, my hand in yours.
And still, your hand in mine.

About the author

Spyglass Admin

Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

%d bloggers like this: