A Man Hanging by a Thread


He is sitting at an outdoor cafe in a small town

Outside of Paris. He is wearing a navy blue suit

With fine gray pinstripes. He is having a coffee.

He is enjoying a pastry. He is reading a newspaper.

He is barefooted. He is hanging by a thread,

Fingertips locked in a life and death struggle,

Locked on the edge of a steep cliff, a precipice, 

Jagged rocks below, the incoming tide swirling

Around, and occasionally over, the rocks—

Swirling white and foamy, the roar of the waves

Resounding against the cliff wall. It is warm.

Above, the sky is blue and clear, the gulls raucous.

The scene is both surreal and stereotypical.

It is a metaphor. Look at the man. Look at the sky.



Poetry by jim The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 71 times
Written on 2019-12-27 at 16:28

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F.i.in.e Moods The PoetBay support member heart!
True, however someone is feeling inside isn't always readily showing on the outside for others to pick up on. The day looks usual, the man sitting there at the café looks usual, but a glance at the picture doesn't show it that there's more than likely a massive storm on the horizon of this moment. Must admit, moments like that kind of scare me... a mind that snaps can do terrible things! Anyway, I like how you set the scene, and end with the advice to take a closer look: what you see may not exactly be representative of what is. Bien écrit, comme toujours, merci.

Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Nicely done. Appearances can be deceiving.