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Like all before me I now know how we leave.
The hawsers that link us to this life are slipped,
some cast before we feel that leaving’s underway.
We learn with a jolt, when the first rope snaps,
that machinations for our passing have begun.
Chance and our genes have secured the lines.
The fortunate few will be multi-tethered,
others, unknowingly, held only by a slip-knot,
the unfortunate anchored by a single thread.
No one knows how securely they are harboured.
Age slackens tensions in life’s bindings
brings a gentle looseness in responses,
an overall change in how and who we are.
Sudden modification can shatter composure
and re-adjust the sense of our allocated time.
It seems a reasonable end, to slip adrift —
randomness brings a false sense of hope.
Hope, that although we leave, there is still time
to secure fruition, before the last release,
when light, that catalyst of life, leaves us.
