The String

It is windy outside
and has rained all day ..
the string of my life 
I hold onto but I don't 
    know where
the other end is tied - 

it is strung out, some loose,
some tight, over hills and
valleys, over rivers and
cliffs, gorges and forests
streams and heather
green woods in the snow.

I look around me:
I don't know where to go
and the tangle left
is not large, it plays out
with every step,
faltering, slow.

There are no voices anymore,
no colour and no sound
the land is cracked here,
my string unwound
looks sad and thin

as if it has given up
its ghost, its long
purpose here, unravelling -

the skies are dark and the 
air is not clear - it is
harder to breathe than it
has been and the hour
    is late.

There is no light
    in the hollow lands
no help and no hand -
the edges are sharp for
    the cutting
and broken glass makes
    bare feet bleed.

How do I wait -
how do I do
    another deed
with no kind word and 
    no kind kin

all dissipates
and dissolves the space between
earth and heaven -
no reason to stay, no choice, no power, 

the cheery wave made it begin,
and I lost it that day
  my life,

and I walked the wrong way
toward the land of everlasting wound.
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