Tightrope

I walk a rope that hangs in air, It moves with rules I do not see. Each step I take feels watched, not free, And I forget who I used to be. The rope is soft yet too tight and pulls me back, Like Kind Hands hiding quiet chains. It bends around but doesn’t break, And leads me through the same old lanes. I feel the pull from sides unknown, Not just by you, or even me. Some hands I never see or name Still change the shape beneath my feet. I walk like water in a glass, Shaking with fear I cannot speak. If I fall, is that called freedom? Or just another circle made? The rope still turns but never ends, And still I walk though truth is blurred. Still I walk, though the knot is hidden, And the wind keeps shaking, blurring what I see.