Running with Scissors

{on the Dangers of Dying}

..

We’d be lying if we told ourselves
we didn’t want to cut these strings

(apron, heart, fate); set fire to paper
before we ever etch one word. We’ve

heard Mr. Death’s got himself a scythe;
we hope it’s sharp, and swift. We pray

the lift that comes before the fall is
worth it all, that we might fly awhile be

-fore we leave this blue-green rock for
good. What do you say? Shall we tug

-o-war this one more day, stay awhile and
play roshambo with tomorrow’s tears?

 

..
Poetic Asides April PAD Challenge, day 21. 

 

 

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