I’m curled up like a foetus in this life nest that I have constructed over my lifetime.

A nest tightly woven from regrets and of missed opportunities, 

Of disappointment and heartache,

Lined with shallow comfort made from memories of happier times.

It shelters me to some degree,

Stopping absolute misery and calming the storms in my mind.

 

The branch on which I have built my nest is strong and secure.

However, the tree, to which the branch is part of, is on the forest edge.

Woodsmen are near with axes ready and sharp to fell my world.

 

But I remain curled up with my eyes tightly closed,

Not brave enough to live, but not desperate enough to die.

The uncertainty is part of my pain

 

However, life trudges on, day after day,

The sun rises.

And sets.

Then rises again.

And I remain, motionless, knees held tightly up to my chest.

With just thoughts.

Dark thoughts that occupy my mind and chill me to my core.

 

What, if any salvation is available to this poor wretch?

Can the warmth of the sun reach me?

Will the fruit of this tree refresh me?

Perhaps the woodsman’s hand can be diverted for a bit more time,

Allowing me to breathe and stretch and to rise once more.

And I am still here, most definitely I am here,

And for now, that is enough.