A Mort Laitner Poem
Dare inch forward toward the borderline, That thin, invisible line between private and secret. As Conscience screams to ears stuffed with index fingers:
The consequences are too grave. The risks greatly outweigh the benefits.
What about those stories you read in the paper.
Those poor bastards crossed the line and paid a severe price.
But how our heart pounds,
like the amateur gambler who as gone all in.
But how our heart pounds for that taste of excitement.
That taste of youth swirling and coating our tongue and gums. Our nostrils inhale the sweet ripeness of low-hanging forbidden fruit. As we remember our wilder days.
Those days we relive in nightly pillow dreams. Yet we plan and act. Inching forward. As our heart and gut plummets our brain.
As we cross the border into twilight.
It is now too late to turn back.
We have crossed the borderline. Cross the line. Send this poem to someone you love.
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“Borderline published in “Authors’ Voice” South Florida Writers’ Association Newsletter Issue 8 December 2015—-Thanks Teresa (editor)
Thanks for the courage!—Jill
Stay safe.— Elaine
Thanks Mort. Very good! Ulrich