Despair

Your life is good, your path is clear,
Laughter sounds from year to year.
Not picture perfect, never so,
But not so bad, as life will go.

Calamity, disaster strikes,
Your world is flipped, beset by spikes.
You find yourself left hanging there,
Feet left dangling midair.

The ledge outside, your world within,
Your fingers grasp an edge too thin.
You call out hope, you cry in vain,
And barely see the closed glass pane.

Try as you might your purchase slips,
Hardscrabble rips cross fingertips.
You cry out in pain, for help to hear,
You find inside both rage and fear.

You hear the scrape, the window creak,
Your hopes lift up, you hear them speak,
Such awesome words, hushed with care,
"Thanks for hanging in there."

Your heart it pounds, you pulse has raced,
Soon your missteps will be retraced.
Before much more your life resumed,
Silly now had panic consumed.

Seonds, minutes, hours, days,
Time is passing in a haze.
Your fingers grip you rearrange,
You find this delay quite strange.

Up beyond the sill you peer,
And no longer see it open here.
From deep inside you hear the sounds,
Of happy lives off walls rebounds.

Your fingers gray and melt and blend,
Where sill begins and fingers end.
The sky outside is cold austere,
Raindrops slide into released tear.

From time to time the sounds inside,
Drift outside and cannot hide,
From ears exposed to frigid air,
"Thanks for hanging in there."

Inside the world spins slowly on,
Outside your senses almost gone.
You wait, you sigh, you breath, you cry,
What else is there except to die.

You offer up a silent prayer,
"Thanks for hanging in there."

Hope is something you cannot dare,
"Thanks for hanging in there."

You're filled inside with deep despair,
"Thanks for hanging in there."

You close your eyes, embrace the numb,
The end, you're sure, soon must come.

"Thanks for hanging in . . . "