Thin Line Between Love And Hate Poem by Renee Wangwe

A rope in hand he made his way,
To the midst of the forest around his thoughts,
A step and a stop as he unfolded inside;
Crumbling with the lies he told his mind.

I'm tired, was his catch phrase.
Instead he meant I'm dying.
I'm okay, he said.
In his heart he cried, I'm tired.
Which in turn still meant,
I'm dying.

So as he set down a rock,
A memory appeared.
Of a time when life wasn't so hard.
Of a time when a broken smile was closest
To any sort of pain inside.
Oh what a time, alas, what a memory.

He set another rock,
His heart did clench.
Many tears he shed,
Enough to sprout new life he thought.
He no longer valued the unsteady rhythm of his pulse.
It was unsteady for a reason.

And behold
The last rock.
He mounted before he could have a thought.
What a double edged sword life is,
And the bitter sweet taste that lingered,
Unwanted.

The rope, knowing what came next,
Was but a humble servant,
And when the noose was made
A few threads came apart;
The rope's way of sympathy.
For this wasn't a first.

The man bowed his head and stepped off the rocks,
A smile to his face as his eyes rolled back.
'Camille'... a name the rope knew all too well.