When did the scaffold I built
to touch the moon and realise my dreams
become a corset,
restricting, binding and suffocating?
When did the flimsy willow structure I used
to help me define who I am
become a rigid, unyielding brick wall
to hold me in, instead of a
stepping stone to lead me on?
When did the tree whose branches I climbed
to go beyond my expectations
become the cloven pine
whose knotty entrails have imprisoned me?
When I started believing the thoughts,
whirling, murky, incessant whisperings
that smile and hide a knife beneath the cloak.
When I started accepting 'good enough'
and stopped believing it is possible
to achieve the highest, most improbable dream.
When I took to be real the safety net
of doubt and narrowness
and let go of the bright, shiny balloon
of my dreams
that told me I could fly.
When the scaffold topples over,
and the brick wall falls down,
and the tree branches break
I shall breathe freely,
not certain of where I am going
but sure that the path I take
will be full of wonder, and adventure and new beginnings,
because I have stopped believing in the small
and have once again caught hold of the
tail of the balloon which will help me to fly.
© 14 June 2013