The Tightrope Poem by Daniel P Martin

I tread the tightrope
That stretches from womb to tomb,
Ever aware,
Ever reminded,
Of the precarious nature of my situation,
And that of those around me,
Making equally steady progress,
Sometimes I marvel at my ability,
Just to put one foot in front of another,
Plodding forward into the thick mist,
Of uncertainty and mystery,
Each move could be my last,
And each step could bring me to my destination,
Knowing that the circus would continue,
The audience may morn,
For a time,
But the clowns would no doubt lift the spirits,
The freaks would continue to sicken,
And the Lion tamers would continue to amaze,
So, I have come to accept,
Nay, to appreciate,
The thickness of that mist,
And the ambiguity it creates,
For what becomes truly certain,
Is that nothing is certain,
Or cast in stone,
And everything is there for the taking,
But to dwell only on the finish line,
Is only to draw it closer,
There are but two words,
Which, with a succinctness I do not possess,
Sum up my words, perfectly;
Carpe Diem.