Niclas Bartsch

The Chord on the Floor

They look like big, good, strong hands,
I always thought that’s what they were.
While I fought for myself, while I took a stance,
what happened remains in a piteous blur.

Fear rears its hideous head,
singing the same song as before.
And while I’m in bed,
alone with my dread,
I fail to see the cord on the floor.

Covert in dirt in a rainy night,
hiding itself from all dashes of light,
just a glimpse of it could mean that I might
make it out of here, my prison of fright.

Leaving behind all the aches of my past
and finding a way to resolve it, at last,
the puzzle whose pieces all alter in size,
to get rid of myself in this labyrinth of lies.

The cord that is leading through hate and despair,
whose nature is soulless, though trusty and fair.
It may lead you on in the freezing cold,
but always will be you a lifeline to hold.

And the rising sun gives me reason to dream,
as dreadful the night may seem to be,
that with another day ahead of me,
the dawn makes the world shine in a new gleam.

So I can be sure; whatever may betide,
I know who’ll forever be by my side.
and will show me the way as it did way before.
The everlasting cord on the floor.
 

Todos los derechos pertenecen a su autor. Ha sido publicado en e-Stories.org a solicitud de Niclas Bartsch.
Publicado en e-Stories.org el 13.11.2019.

 

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