Those in shackles are always on the move
Running along the edges of the fire
Hustling all night their worthiness to prove
Until even the marrow is tired.
It's true, somebody is always sinking
Wooden angels have no power to save
Men with rings look at each other, winking
While Hope founders beneath a cresting wave.
Daily custom dulls sensitivity
We move through a lab'rinth twisted and wry
Symbols of decay show prominently
Redemption's a promise living belies.
Life reels on the edge of the precipice
Gaping fearfully into the abyss
December 2016
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