Clutching what’s left of my ties,

Falling because someone’s

Taken scissors to my strings,

Cut away the twists and cords,

Leaving me with air to cling to,

Falling fast with no hopes,

Of someone to catch me,

Bring me back up to my strings,

Or rather, what is left,

So that I may start again,

Crying out in a freefall,

Suddenly I stop….

What has prevented me

From falling to my soul’s death?

‘Tis the very scissors!

The shears which had caused my fall,

Now catch me and bring me back up,

How could this be? Why would they

Do such a thing, to no point?

As I rise, back to my work,

I wonder which came first,

The intent to cut my strings,

Or the intent to catch me?

Did fate do the clipping?

That the scissors would catch?

Or were the scissors confused?

I am confused as I rise,

Perhaps I shall never know,

Why it was my strings were cut,

Only for me to be saved,

But now they bring me,

To a new set of strings,

On which I may start anew,

Still confused, I begin,

The scissors now stand watch,

And I wonder why they stand,

In case that I should fall,

Or in case my strings need clipping….