Tightrope

He stands,

facing a rope

that stretches under the rising sun,

and past a ruthless waterfall

that dares him to try and cross.

He tries not to look down

at the rushing water below,

All he can hear is its deafening roar.

He takes a step.

The rope gives slightly,

audaciously.

The tendrils bite into his feet.

He reconsiders for a second,

but follows his foot

with another.

And he takes another step, and another.

But, sure enough,

he slips

and crashes into the depths.

It takes him an eternity to come back.

He struggles for breath,

and he tries again,

and he falls off again,

and he comes back again.

And the days pass by,

But finally,

battered, and bruised, and bloodied,

he balances,

crossing the moonlit sky

to the other side