The connection between us
feels as fragile
as a spider’s web,
fine spun silk
that will break
under the weight
of falling autumn leaves
or drifts of winter snow
leaving me alone in the cold.
Should I stay
with this fearful uncertainty
or should I tip-toe away
feel the stretch and break
of the thread
and of my hopes?
Maybe my hopes were
always too frail
to survive
like snowflakes
that melt away
in morning sun.



Today I cannot fly
my words all tumble to the ground
and lie there bleeding
shot down by stray
arrows of anger
that passed close enough by
to leave burning furrows of fear
across the blank page
where my thoughts hide

Today I cannot fly
the air is still
and suffocating
no breeze to lift me skyward
no draught to ripple my feathers
my wings are pinned to my back
held down by not knowing
if I am good enough.