one red balloon with dangling string
caught by a breeze
rising, floating free

one red balloon swept on thin air
blowing, going higher still
above the trees in open sky

and far below the freed balloon
an empty hand and upturned eyes

~ ~ ~

At this stage, I have to wonder
just what the hell is going on.
Climbing, searching, reaching
takes everything I’ve got,
and I need to know how much longer
my stamina will hold.

I want someone to walk beside me,
talk to me about the journey,
hold my hand and lead me when
I fall behind, don’t want to go on.

Outside, I guess it seems I’m strong,
but on the inside of me is nothing
but vapor, mist, cotton candy.
It’s as though I’m in a play about a facade
about a sham about a farce about myself.

Everything is a set, a scene,
an unsolvable puzzle, and I’m the missing piece.
Do I like what I have become …
illusion – falsehood – shell?

I think not.