If only today, I could peer
into tomorrow and ponder my
methods of defense.
I tiptoe on a worn thread,
each step another blind tomorrow,
as I sway like a lush, unbalanced,
unsure of his own solid ground.

When howling winds cast themselves
out of the gloom,
will I then be seized and thrown
into a vast emptiness,
a ragdoll unable to walk along
a consistent thread.

My soul lacks substance,
no solidity to anchor me,
and I fear unanswered questions.
I fear disguised tomorrows could
smile warmly as they plunge their
blades within.

Another step beneath sunless sky,
no warmth to bask,
nor guiding light to guide,
only the fear that ignorance bestows.
For I walk a fine line,
each step a bold progression towards
uncertainty.

2001 R. Charles
(All Rights Reserved)