Tuesday, July 19, 2011

“Her Fall”

I held your tiny hand, tugged you away from danger    
            carried you safely to the other side    
I protected you from water’s edge and ocean’s undertow—      
            the drowning tears of your uncertainties   
I watched from the sidelines as you changed—  
dwindling into someone I no longer recognized  
Now, dismay burdens me,    
cements me in place as you scale the precipice  
I call out, “Don’t! Turn back! Wait for me!”  
            as your compulsion drives you higher, higher  
I perceive the cracks in your mask  
            even as you disillusion those who still believe in you     
I reach futilely skyward, my feet anchored in place,  
            unable to halt your ascent over crumbling rock  
I try, and try again, to guide you to sure footing      
            but you ignore my words, indulging in illusions of independence  
I weep, a witness to your self-destruction,      
as your frailties and obsessions force your fall 

Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman 


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