Tremble, Some More

when i lift up my head to raise the cup into my mouth

my hand shakes, the cup shakes, my head shakes,

coffee spilled on the floor

i have a question for you.

we both know that the edge is near,

like a burning piece of old newspaper.

the fire's put out but the paper

it's still blackening and curving round the edges,

and soon the final word will be gulped by coal

it is not the poem's fault or the writer,

but the initial fire

paper, soot - covered in led

we both know it'll happen,

it's bound to happen,

it'll be me and you.

but will you be there to catch me when i fall?

or will you hold my hand as we do?