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Slamming
headlong into the edge of reality,
To the point where everything turns
In on itself and I am left hanging
Upside down, tangled in the braided umbilical cord.
The silver threads that bind me to all else,
To the greater conscience, wrapped around my feet.
Any moment now the cord could snap
Leave me falling through the fragile web
Into the nothingness that surrounds me -
My tiny place in the universe at large.
In the image of the Hanged Man I sway aimlessly
With more than ample time to think of Consequence.
Waiting for the silver threads to fray.
What role have I played in this life, what webs
Entwine, touch, and cross mine?
What of those webs should I break free
And fall forever into the abyss? A ripple in the water
Not unnoticed but hardly of great concern, or
A tidal wave crashing down upon their shores
Bringing devastation that will be felt forever.
Is it wrong to wish to be a tsunami
As I wait for the snip of Atropos’ scissors?
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