Held

Delicate as a fine crystal glass
That shatters beneath the slightest grip
Yet slices into the flesh of your hand
Spilling the red from within.

Until

On wilted wings of gossamer strings,
May we still set flight?

With mast that bends in fading winds,
Dare we sail this night?

As daylight pales and vision fails,
What's to spur us on?

When all goes dark and absent mark,
Peer we t'wards the dawn?

If storms befall our straining gall,
How so shall we cope?

And lain adrift in sightless mist,
Can we yet stir hope?

Then at first light, in harrowed plight,
Will boldness hoist the main?

As morn' creeps on and will is gone,
Might we start again?