Short Charbroiled Poems

There is a thin line between anxious, nail-biting life and bitter buried death. 
Though we tread carefully the tightrope has been lit by the match of time. 
Let us hem these charbroiled rends that the ones we loved have spoiled, in an attempt to pull us down. 
With heart mottled arms we reach into perilous seas. 
To find a siren singing her eardrum bashing hymn. Is this love? 
I think I will just hook my baited heart and cast once more. Bite.

-Mitch...

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