Monday, January 30, 2012

“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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