That treacherous mountain trail;

the fine line that strays and stands,

like the thinnest cord that stretches

and goes indefinite distances as we walk

up high, carefully careening over the two caverns

marked remembrance and forgettance;

that hold captive two dormant volcanoes

carrying embers capable

of melting everything,

kept cool,

shrouded in earth

like memories shredded,

with ash and grit like tears dried dead;

That journey of balancing every step, without

falling over and breaking through the cindered

cover and melting in that reminiscent magma

or turning into a volatile void of human form,

That balancing act in a falling fallacy;

called a slippery slope, is what we know as life!

© the_acataleptic