Balanced

On the high wire.

Photo by Greg Rosenke on Unsplash

I look into my soul, and find My heart is still on fire Your presence is the flower of An aerialist balanced on the high wire.

I’m teetering and swaying I fear that I might fall I hear your voice now saying Be drawn by my enthral.

Your whispering voice calls me From the pages I have read The chapters of my life flee My heart is full of dread.

Of days when I have lost you Of peaks I’ve never reached The nights of pitch-black hue The fortress walls are now breached.

My soul is now laid bare My own blood is on my hands Is my heart beyond repair? Washed up on foreign sands.

Or is there still a light Flickering in my soul A memory that’s still insightful Filling my empty bowl.

I’ve loved you through this lost summer And as winter stretches her fingers Faint beats from a distant drummer Your love in my heart lingers.

I’m mesmerised and calling you Across the windswept ranges If you only knew The subtlety of these exchanges.

©

David Rudder 2026

Thank you for reading this piece and my poetry.