All the king's horses and all the king's men,
Women, children, come one and all ages as they fantasize
Of the spectacle and they become infatuated
With the thought of being eloped with the threads
Above their heads as they watch the tight rope.
But above, they are invisible.
Loud voices become whispers
Below, all seasons are winter.
Then the stairs that connected
Their stares, no longer able to laugh
To the world below, you are glass.
One step down and you become glass.
The quiet, whispers to one become louder
From a glance they all share
One glance that widens the gap
Between one world and the next.
One foot in front of the other
The halfway point makes the audience faint
Routine, to think, for some it may be
Only as an assurance to avoid the thought of death.
Yours, theirs, but there is only fear outside
As the only thought is how to get from one point to the next.
To the world below, you are glass.
The wires won't come loose
Or a thread falling too soon
One foot in front of the past
But to see that one little step