Life on the high wire
By Connor Mura

With the snap of a single thread, I begin to see small rosewood drops sprinkling across the ground
My handcrafted Buddhist prayer beads flutter from my wrist
A gift from my love
Strewn across the shimmer of rain topped cement
Without a Farwell, Forlorn fragments of my faith fall through the cracks
Riding a waterfall over the point of no return.
In the coming days I found myself joining those little red marbles.
Shattered and scattered, caught out in the stony rain
Wounded by the loss of the very love that offered me that prayer.
As I fought for high ground in a battle with addiction,
          And questioned the world, the only answer I could find;
I had lost my marbles.

IMAGE: “Red Circle on Black” by Jiro Yoshihara (1965).


ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Connor Mura is a writer out of western New York, currently enrolled in college. Mura’s influences Bukowski and Robert Frost, yet most of his work is heavily influenced though his experiences Being an impoverished homeless youth suffering with mental illness as well as a troubling past. With no former publications, Connor Mura is a stranger to the literary world and hopes to connect with the outcasts of his generation.