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Walking that tightrope...
that narrow hold on dreams...
that holds me up above that truth...
or... that... reality...
for... if I awake to joy...
and take a look... down...
I will feel the madness...
I will remember the struggles...
and I will weep... too deep.
I walk a tightrope...
knowing... that if I stumble into another truth...
another hard reality...
or wake up... to another tragedy...
it will overwhelm me...
my losses already too deep...
to endure... another...
And so I tread my simple dream carefully...
this tightrope... between joy and tragedy...
lest either one... make me topple...
into a... mourning...
a... deep, deep weeping...
at the truth...
whether good... or bad...
at the truth... waking me...
to my basket full of sorrows...
and those dreams... that can never be.
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