The Fallen Chair

 The fallen chair, how has it fallen?

Askew as if kicked out from under, yet unbroken by whatever invisible force.

Tide of evil? Or simply rotten choices- or choices left unsaid,

are still choices made.

The floor is now its security net, where beggars kneel-where beggars lie.

Where the desperate ask only for a cold drop of water, after the folly of wrong decisions, 

Not to be written  in permanent ink as others have already cast a Scarlet Letter in non washable paint.

I observe the chair’s desperation by the way it was knocked over,

Its safety on the floor where it dare not risk being stood up again, or to be stood upon.

The floor being its new Egypt that’s better than risk.

Safe.

The fallen chair askew a still of posterity for all others not to bother,

Neither reaching, nor wanting to be pulled up to try again.

Like a fearful possum playing dead, to live just enough-yet not little.

Oh, how I pity it at times!  In all its fears like the shadow of a chalk tracing,

left pathetically to fade from view over the years until it is forgotten-like the yellowing pages of a cold case file, or the fallen tape of a crime scene.

It has fallen without the perception of others, it’s simply there!

No wrong choices, no choosing not to choose, no risky choices,whether they be wrong or right

Decidedly undecided for the sake of peace.

The camera decided the chair’s place on the floor, etched in a position of safety, taking no position at all.

I watch and I wait.

The fallen chair never moved as if bonding to the floor, warm in all its cold security.

The last place to go, no more risk-taking in lying there.