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There hung a rope, tough, 

Fingers sung of pain as he held, 

Hanging off about to fall in the pit 

If he ever tried to let go. 

And he was driven to hold on 

As long as he was alive, 

Even if he wasn’t as strong 

As he thought he was. 

But, his beliefs were washed away 

With the beads of sweat 

That fell off his forehead 

Into the crypt. 

Days passed, years fled, 

And he hung with a death dread. 

One day, he knew, 

It was the end, good or bad. 

He let go, but not to be dead, 

The wire had elongated so that,

His feet were planted on the earth. 

He then knew that holding on, 

Was a good thing;

But also that letting go,

In the right time mattered too…

~K@

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