Hanging By A Thread

The boot print led to disapproval,

with each disappointment,

came a river of ice,

that worked hard,

but it wasn't enough

to crush

but it did leave a stamp mark

on many minds and brains.

My sacrifice,

was bone dry,

as she perched on the ledge,

of womanhood,

with fragile wings,

that did not appear strong.

Through it all

it snowed steadily,

but it wasn't weather,

but rather it was more like

a flying sparrow,

that was stilled, but dizzied,

also, on the edge,

which was perfectly not smart,

though it was the only alter,

or offering, or penance,

or breath of air that could be held.

The bitterest tears,

and the most crippled wings

both fell into the gutter,

because they were not enough

at the end of the day

those choices

and notes

were all too thin

thus, they were shredded.