A fine balancing act
singing a siren’s lament

drives us beyond reason
into fogs and mired thoughts

the day drives the tempo
with each step pre-measured

and mystery is shunned:
an impractical happening

we carefully lift our blinders
willingly wear a mask

for the perceived acceptance
of faceless strangers

and the familiar spike
of anxiety’s rise

turns smooth edges
into shards in hidden places

we dance the dance of madness
tied to earthly expectations

waiting the moment
to shed our skin

step free of our toils and coils
and sink to the soft sands

waiting below any hint of this world ~ Caroline A. Slee