I never know he’s watching,
But, I’m hoping,
I’m hoping on, the rope that’s got me choking
And tighter yet, the courage it takes coping
When hanging from, the thread he strung, starts croaking
And tighter do my hands become from groping
Regrets like knots, have kept love from corroding
Swaying bound, his eyes slowly approaching
Enlightenment may be found with both eyes opened

© Delia Ross. 2020

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One thought on “Rope

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