Tug of war, interminable dance,
of reason and controlled device,
of something here and nothing there
with sweaty hands and relentless rope,
I fear that if I take the chance
and release a grip I hold in hope,
I’d fall and interrupt my trance
and betray all terms of my advice.
But at the end this fraying cord,
braced through my neck and up my spine
the nothing here is now something there
with blistered hands and bolted jaw,
I know that if I fought unshored
my failing feet could take no more
I’d scatter all the strength I’d stored,
and let the flag across the line.
Illustrated Shorts 