Ropes

Swaying in the soft breeze,

Like the wind blowing through autumn leaves.

A trickle of water heard from below

The clock of existence beginning to slow.

Falling forward off the viaduct of wood,

Drifting off the bridge from whence I had stood.

The bitter wind thrashing past my face,

Vanishing my tears, leaving no trace.

Arms spread out, body declining with haste

Like an angel from the heavens,

Falling from grace.

The rope caught my throat and a gasp from my lips,

My breath cut short, and I fell unto perpetual bliss