Calm ye down, ride the feather's edge,
On silent steps, stealth now, cracked ledge.
Misstep and the maze catches. brambles and thorns,
Leaving you broken, tattered, and torn.
Slowly sink into oblivion, pretty visions of gold,
Rest the sunshine scene, on the morrow age will be old.
Tread lightly lest your world crumble pieces scattered,
And a mirror of lost time slowly shattered.
The waves send you back, and outcast you touch shades of gray,
So heavily the drift falling in the shadows fading away.
You reach out, but nothing to touch , nothing to cling,
Steadfast anchor is gone, there is not anything
© Cynthia Clark