Acrobat

Some days are tentative.
They hang in
The uncertain world
Of anticipation.
Between happiness
And despair,
Between hope
And resignation,
Between light and darkness
They stretch like a wide
Trampoline,
Over the expanse of which
I move from
One corner to the other,
Like an amateur acrobat
Not knowing
Which corner
Will my soul loose
A scared grip over the bamboo
And where I will
Fall by the end of the show,
Will it be a happy corner of love
Or dark, solitary corner
Of scorn, to which I will descend
As the applause rises
And the breath stops
Right there
Just for a second..
It is the final fall that I can bear,
It is the tentative anticipation
That kills me.