Hanging by a Thread              

 

Maybe it's all in my head.

Like a dream in my bed,

But in my mind the end is near

And I am soon gone, I fear.

 

My brain is floating in place,

Receiving false signals without a trace

Of where they were read.

For I am hanging by a thread.

 

A thread so fragile it cannot survive,

Without the body keeping it alive.

It began as a cord from which I grew,

Arms and legs, toes and fingers too.

 

A lifeline of energy bonding body and brain.

A source of power and a shelter from the rain.

For twenty years we grew together in a symbiosis that created a man.

Body teaching brain, and brain responding to train.

 

Then an unkind cut, damaged the link,

And my body began to sink.

Into the nothingness defined, by loss of the mind.

 

My memory is strong, as I focus on the place,

Where my body moved with such grace.

And nothing happens when I call--nothing at all.

 

Deprived of their lifeblood,

Cord nerves entwined, die one by one until none remain.

 

My brain grows depressed as it attempts to reach,

Organs no longer within its teach.

Organs that die, little by little, with no word from a severed mind. 

 

One nerve, then another, shrivels and dies.

The once mighty river of power is reduced to a thread.

And when the thread breaks, I will be dead.

 

A head without a body is like a body without a head—dead.

Don't cut me off from that life-giving thread.

 

Copyright 1997 © Ronald W. Hull

 

 9/9/95



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