Holding On

                                       You’re holding tight

                                                     to the slippery rope.

                                                                         Are you climbing,

                                                                                          up to the sunlight

                                                                                                  above the clouds

                                                                                                   where the uplands

                                                                                             used to be?

                                                                            Are you descending,

                                                                   down to Sheol,

                                                           via Purgatory,

                                                  across the Styx

                                               to Albion?

                                      Are you paralysed

                                      with icy fear

                                      or indecision

                                      and the demon

                                       of doubt?

                                      You’re holding tight:

                                      you could let go,

                                      you might rise;

                                      a balloon

                                      on the

                                      wind.

                                       Or

                                      you

                                      might

                                      fall

                                      into

                                     despair.