The Rope

.

.

These burned hands betray my will.

My heart would yet hold on.

.

In the night my tired soul finally slept.

And these hands; my finest things,

Forgot they were keeping us alive.

.

Now the hurri awakens me

To the hard consequence of falling.

.

Only my hands,

Finally free,

Singing in the air.

.

.                J H S

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