High Ground

High Ground

You say to me that it's all going to work out,
that things'll get better,
the problems will go away...

...So why does it feel like I'm clinging to my last vestige
of sanity? The last handhold on reality?
I see a lifeline; thrown in the form of long late night
conversations and half-veiled promises.
But I'm forced to wonder- will this fade too?
Will it dissolve after a hurried kiss? Or will it last
long enough
for me to regain the high ground, and soldier on?

They say that wary is the one who is prepared,
but even an unexpeceted breath of winter can blow
the summer queen off her high throne.

So now, my dearest friend,
with the taste of ashes in my mouth,
and the stain of guilt upon my soul
[placed by blame, not by mine own actions].
Will you take a chance, see what might be behind,
the glamour, the smoke and mirrors, the defenses of the high ground
that I've learned to decieve and deflect with, will your lifeline hold?


Nothing for it but to wait...