Grip Poem by Robert Sheridan

Grip with a dimmer vision
As-it watches me faint upon the scorn
With its icy hands - a taut grip
Brushes over me, freezes me to the bone;
Suddenly, I begin to slither down,
I am immersed in delirium – clutching,
Clutching for salvation, the grip glides up,
Abruptly, it refreezes my soul;
The writhing struggle to set my mind at ease
To somehow summon up the words
To tell you that the love and trust are gone;
The first moments are like the last moments
Held grip tight in time by second opinions
Now tossed into a cold, dark place that pains
Well-defined, immense – a compulsive course
Looking, searching for a glimmer of hope -
And then comes another icy blow ...

'2007'