He had watched and admired <br />the high wire artist <br />such balance, such attention, such freedom <br />far above the crowd, <br />such confidence! <br />(no safety net was found) <br />far below upon the ground. <br /> <br />He studied intently, asked questions <br />(until nothing else remained in mind) <br />except that wire of freedom <br />above him strung <br />reached from the ladder long <br />with so, so many rungs. <br /> <br />One day he climbed steadily upwards <br />(with a conviction that could not be ruptured) <br />and out he stepped without a doubt <br />that this is the only way to go about. <br />But one thing missed (he had not seen) <br />the fine strong safety line <br />where the artist's chest had been...... <br /> <br />The crowd below gasped and cried <br />see up there; that man in the clouds! <br />Some wanted to applaud <br />and others simply watched in awe; <br />and a few whispered quietly <br />with hearts in mouth (outstretched unbound) <br />I know that man <br />(we saw him on the ground) <br />His name is Cloony <br />and his nose was big and red and round... <br /> <br />And Cloony heard them all <br />from the wire, far above, the thrall.....<br /><br />David Taylor<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-high-wire-artist/
