Free Fall II

For John

Free fall stops. Wary, I ask, “Is there more?”
     Since, too often, the floor gives way just then,
And Alice-like, I tumble, though I swore,
     “That’s it, I’m done. I won’t do that again,”
And pledged sincerely, like each time before.
          Divided ‘gainst myself, and in disgust,
          Betrayed by self, I earn my own distrust.

I hoped brute pain would make the beast relent;
     Birth sense into me, bend me to be sane.
I thought that that’s what “hitting bottom” meant,
     But treacherous memory gamed me yet again.
Just God or death must end my mad descent:  
          Each stair lures me lower to suffer more,
          And every bottom’s just the next trap door.

© Larry Haworth 2013