THE ROPE
Cold,
tired, wet and naked,
I cast
about in the pitch black
For something
to hold onto;
Or for a
single shaft of light to see
My way
through.
No doubt
I created
The dark,
desperate
State I
am in.
And I
think, “Show me something.
Show me
anything.
And
forevermore
I will
live in the light.
Then, at
my feet,
I feel a
rope.
A slim,
slender rope.
I pick it
up, and hand over hand,
It guides
me.
Or I am
guided by it.
I walk
along,
Keeping the
rope in my hand,
Never daring
to let go.
And the
black, black world
Gradually
becomes grayer,
And slowly
becomes lighter,
Until
finally, after what feels
Like a
thousand years,
I emerge
into the light.
And the
world that I left
Is more
beautiful than ever
Before.
All the
people I forsook
Are waiting
with open arms
And forgiving
hearts.
I look
down at the rope.
That
slender, tiny thread
That meant
so much to me
The twine
tells me
“I’m
always here for you.”
