Like a rope

Like a Rope, I swing.

Unhinged sometimes

Fixated other times

Fluctuating with the ebb

And flow of the wind

That sometimes, Mocks me

And teases my ends apart

But the strands of twine that I am

Are strong, organic, fiborous

They are old, but flexible

They sway with the wind

Not against it

They fray, tied down with weight

That they should not be made to bear.

But bear it I do, and mend myself

Time and time again, the beauty fades

Withers, sun aged and weathered

But real.

A rope this strong is made to weather

So many storms, and weights

And does so, With pride

Like a rope, she swings, merrily

She thinks the war is won

Claiming, she knows it all

But she is made of Nylon

Strong yes, colourfull

Enthralling to the eye

She screams to the world

Look at me, the new one

Everyone rushes to admire

Forgetting how they loved the old rope

Caught in the blinding fury of her

Passion, and self righteous attitude

They look and they see, the old rope

Hanging, quietly seething

Knowing that the weights put upon her

Are ones that she chose, and will always bear

With pride, and love

Knowing that the nylon, if thrown in a fire

Melts and disolves

Whereas twine, returns to Ash

And we all know

Ash rises, again and again.