I Will Try

Here we are, standing in the middle of a bridge

Suspended only by a pair of old, fraying ropes

Swaying back and forth, two hundred feet above ground

Wind gusts whistling through the holes of wooden slats

And by the way, dear soul, I am afraid of heights.

I cannot promise I will be the icon of serenity

I cannot guarantee I’ll make it to the other side

I cannot assume that it will be an effortless stroll

I cannot stop the tears from gushing once I cry

But I can take this bridge one small inch at a time

I can stop to take a breath when I’m afraid I’ll die

And even if it takes an hour, a week, a month, a year

I promise you, dear soul, that I will try.