Poem: Tread the Line

I tread a fine line;

It is drawn not in pastels but in faded ink-

It sent me to the brink and back;

I cannot say I haven’t been attacked-


By it, my wit does not outdo it-

It is the line of the sane and the mad,

The gifted and the Christened;

I can’t say if it is either good, or bad, nor,

Can I say I’ve had trouble crossing it.


It is in archaic language, yet with modern thought;

It is hard to decipher for one who is not-

Well versed in treading thin lines;

Between good or bad, happy or sad-

A lasting trend or a passing fad.


It requires a certain intuition;

A certain perseverance to bring it to fruition;

To see the grey shades and black and white cascades;

Of this line I tread.


And I do wish it was you who treaded, instead.

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