Under the circus tent’s trembling light,
he steps out, one breath, one sway, one height.
Below, the crowd hums like a restless sea,
above, the rope decides who he’ll be.

To his left, she waits with an open hand,
soft eyes that promise safe, warm land.
Her voice, a calm and gentle plea,
a life of love and certainty.

To his right, the other burns like fire,
her laughter wild, her touch desire.
She calls his name with fierce delight,
a storm that thrills the lonely night.

The wire quivers beneath his feet,
each step a war, both sweet and bleak.
One heart split in two directions,
torn by longing and reflections.

The crowd cheers on, they cannot see,
the rope is strung through his misery.
For every inch he moves along,
he betrays one dream to chase the wrong.

He stretches arms, afraid to fall,
afraid to choose, afraid of all.
For balance needs a single truth,
and love will not forgive a sleuth.

So he sways between their distant calls,
his shadow flickers, trembles, stalls.
When the music fades and lights grow late,
he learns indecision is its own fate.

Two women wait on either side,
and in the middle, he must hide.
For hearts that split can never cope,
forever walking their tightrope.