The waking’s spun with webs of urgent lure And sleep is shriveled dreaming marred by fear. The life allows the walker nothing sure Or level path to others once held dear. But many grasp at getting days with hope And moments still and without vice and shame. A little space to reassess and cope, A quiet calm of mind, a gentle flame. Yet many cast themselves aside and rot And wave away this chance to reemerge The winnowing is fine, the chances not, For those who see themselves as lost and purged. The way is narrow, dimly lit and rough But offers vision clear and good enough. Edward Ahern is a fiction writer and retired international trade executive living in Fairfield, Connecticut.