Quicksand

 

If I look away for a while
If I don't mollycoddle
You wander away and far.
Then when I need you back
I set out to find you.
I look with hope and alacrity
In the stir of the woods
And in the calm of the meadows;
In the freedom of the skies
And in the scent of the oceans.
But you have not lost yourself in these
For these do not inspire you?
And then I stumble upon the mire.
You are about to step on quick sand.
I call you out to dissuade
But it sucks you and you give in.
I urge you to flounder your way back
But you don't even try.
I hold out my hand for you to grab
But you stare into infinity.
Then when you are neck deep inside
You reach out and hold my hand.
But it is too late now.
With yourself, you drag me down.

(This poem first appeared in The Yellow Chair Review)