End Of My Rope

I’m at the end of my rope
Climbing down from a mountain
Rough and rugged the rocks were
Cold and breezy the wind was
I still had some way to go
Down from the mountain so high
To jump down I couldn’t consider
To climb back up, I could not try
For I’d come a long way down and out of breath
What shall I do?
I’m at the end of my rope

I’m at the end of my rope
It was the last of footbridges across river
The rest had been ruined by the last storm
Slowly but patiently I trudged on it
Every step an exercise in perseverance
The creaking of the ropes and planks sent shivers down my spine
Then one of the rope snapped
The four last planks fell out to the ravine down below
Forward or backward risks abound
What shall I do?
I’m at the end of my rope

I’m at the end of my rope
Shoe laces nice and bright
For sneakers just acquired off the market
One lace-hole after another I thread
With craftsmanship like a goldsmith
But alas, I’m at tip of the lace
And there are four more holes to go
To tie up the ends I cannot
To go lace-less,  mission impossible
What shall I do?
I’m at the end of my rope

I’m at the end of my rope
So excited and full of passion I was
For a story I had begun to write
With words flowing seamlessly
Like oil from a Bedouin jar
Ideas, characters and the plot coming together nicely
I was on the home-stretch to end the tale
Then the pen ran out of ink
The last of the pens in my forest cabin
What shall I do?
I’m at the end of my rope

I’m at the end of my rope
So what shall I do?
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath
It’s all dark and silent deep within
Seconds rolled into minutes and on and on
Then I let go
Let go of the rope and grabbed the mountain
Let go of the vacant shoe-holes
Let go of the ink and kept on writing
My heart raced, my breaths deepened
Everything changed or did I change?

Yes, I was at the end of my rope
But then, a new experience began
It seemed like an end but then it was just a bend
The rope ended but my journey continued

Selah

Henry Olamiju
(C) October 2011

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