A glass half full…or empty?

A glass half full…or empty?

Sometimes the weight

Is too much to bear.

Nothing in particular

Has changed,

Just the air.

The pressure cranked up

Several atmospheres.

The crush

Constricting the chest,

When even the act of breathing

In and out,

Needs thinking about.

And limbs

Seem to hang down,

Waiting for a swell

Of wind

To lift them.

Maybe they will blow away,

Dandelion spores,

Floating over the horizon,

Passing through

Well remembered,

Blue washed hills,

And rainbow skies,

Leaving the old stem

To wither.

There is an art to living,

Taken for granted

In the first full flush.

But in the half light,

Every new knock

Splits open

The old cracks.

One day they will be

Wide enough to slip into,

The fall, too deep

To climb out of.

Perhaps it will happen

Today, or tomorrow.

Who knows

When the wind blows.

And should the last

Drop of optimism

Be thrown out

With the dishwater,

There will be nothing left

To gauge the meaning

Of this story

But the leaden twinkle,

In the crystal,

Of an empty glass.