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Walking the Blade and Dying With Strangers
By
Rusty Broadspear
Like juggling fine china
We walk the blade
Falling, surviving
And always afraid.
A snowflake falls
To it’s death.
A young child tastes
His final breath.
Walking the blade
Through shimmering tears,
Tired and worn
As darkness nears.
I love you and
I don’t know your name.
No need for goodbyes
Or the hand of blame.
Feeling cool comfort
We lay in the shade.
It’s all over now that
We’ve walked the blade
And we die with strangers........
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