The High Wire
In cold words of spite, shoot me down,
Let hate grind down the heart to dust
The dust to fuel the icy frown,
But frowns can smile when truth they trust.
I’m caught in the bitter cross-fire,
Bullets fired in to cause her pain,
In pain, I can walk the high wire,
High tension wire where words lay slain.
Gutless, using me to get ‘She’,
‘She’, perceived threat to the male,
A male so weak he shoots at me,
And me, they won’t make me fail!
So waste dear words, it changes naught,
From naught everything is grown,
In learning grows the strength I sought,
And dreams I sought to be my own.
Form: Wreathed Quatrains
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