Foothold Poem by Mark Heathcote

We live in our pedestrian thoughts
Freed only by our dreams,
Hell isn't a furnace, it's-a-quagmire
We sink into daily struggles.
It seeps through our toes quietly,
And creeps above our knees;
It paralyses us from doing good.
Being better than the degenerate forms
We say we care to love.

We plead for forgiveness-
Only to gaze into the empty abyss
Of each other's hearts, looking for
A foothold, a place to rest,
Foundations a house can be built.
We denigrate each other
Till every step is perilous-
Or else, with luck, we find some firm footing
And cling on for our dear lives.