The Old Swing

Alone. Prone. Floor of The Pit.
Dust of Ages, settles
on my face. Permeates it.
Sorrow tests my mettle

for how long, this Longest Time?
Searchers’ calls, long ended,
Pain phrased to rhythm and rhyme.
Soon? Twin-poles, unblended.

Familiar voice, “Not long!”
Euphoric tone, reminds…
The Old Swing? Always too strong.
Just brush the dust behind.

A rotten sun crests the edge,
the Pit’s dust glows brightly,
arise with a renewed Pledge,
Walk in-between, lightly.

The Climb? From minutes to hours,
On the edge, Drunkard’s Grin,
dust washed off by Sun’s Showers.
War for control, within.

“I can beat this thing!” I say.
Chemicals flood my Brain,
Lingering Dust stuck to Grey.
I Smile, Smile through the Pain.

Poles swing about, Eternal.
The stable place denied,
I can’t remember, at all,
A balance in my Life.

© CGT, 2016-2017.

Slight edits, but originally posted November 2016.

Talk to me.