Poems by Rose

The Tightrope Walker

 

The Tightrope Walker knew no ground,

Only a silken thread unbound,

Drawn through the sky with quiet grace,

A path that time could never trace,

Where every step became a sound.

 

The wind arrived with polished tongue,

Its oldest songs forever sung.

“Stand firm, yet bend. Speak soft, yet shine.

Walk just ahead, but stay in line.”

She wondered which refrain was wrong.

 

She carried balance like a prayer,

Invisible, yet always there.

Too strong, the thread would pull away;

Too kind, the wind would bid her stay,

Leaving her suspended there.

 

The farther that the Walker came,

The more alike grew praise and blame.

They wore the same familiar face,

They kept the same relentless pace,

Until she scarcely knew their name.

 

She never asked where led the thread,

Or why one voice replaced the next.

She only knew that every stride

Required some part of her to hide,

While every silence still was read.

 

And still she walks, through shifting air,

With practiced poise and careful care.

Not fearing that the thread may part,

But that one unguarded step or heart

Might prove she was too much to bear.

 

So on she goes, where sky meets sky,

Still tracing one unanswered why.

For no one taught the Tightrope Walker

Whether there was another way—

Only how never to stop walking.