Worry Bone

image: favim.com

image: favim.com

 

Worry Bone

 

Behind imaginary glass, the water

rises, only my hand now breathing air.

 

If I could rise, stand upright, I could

breathe, but strength deserts me

 

under the strain of one more challenge.

Where is the resilience I called upon,

 

gone with the years passing, each brings

another age line, another downslope slide.

 

How many slips backward before there is

no returning, before the final slide into darkness?

 

Carol A. Stephen

February 9, 2017

 

 

 

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