Photo by Mads Schmidt Rasmussen on Unsplash
Wisp from my past,
Origin: unknown.
From this chapter of existence,
perhaps sprinklings of the foreword.
Wisp from my past,
Manifest from pressure.
Manifest from doubt.
Galvanised through the fires of time.
Incessant wisp, spirit-loiterer,
oscillating to-and-from view.
Wisp from who I hide,
comfort sought under covers.
Layers fall away,
dissolved by wide eyes.
Naked, raw, exposed,
bare bones on the podium.
Engage or crumble,
forced to partake;
the awkward exchange of banter,
a race for higher ground.
A cordial match of tug-of-war,
fibres straining, tense and flustered.
Collapsing in a heap
of delirium, burden, hysteria.
An outstretched hand, a smile,
like one shared after an inside joke.
Returning to our positions; ready.
Rope around the forearm; set.
The wisp, not my enemy.
The wisp, my companion.
Side by side we make our ascent,
up the spiral staircase.