she fears the fall

with no one there to catch

so weaves herself a net

slinging love to snare

over there, the one who’s strayed

too far from her gaze

over here, the one who might decide

to hate her

binding up his anger

reining in her pain

mending ragged holes in hearts

where captives might

            break free

she sures up her net of goodness

certaining knots are strong

her ceaseless toil consumes

though those ensnared won’t feed

instead weigh heavy in her web

exhausting every fiber.

            stretching her resilience

                        enforcing her surrender…….

til autumn with her mercy came

with gale force winds to break her

the fragments of her fractured fraying

wave from the bough

as letting go she apprehends

the silky strand unseen,

issued from within, alone

will catch her as she falls.

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M.C. Reardon


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