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.”