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Hanging On - M.P. Froimowitz

We awake to find ourselves on a desolate, empty world.
The barren landscape is only occasionally dotted by a rock or a tree.
A strange current pulls us upwards.
We cling to the hard ground in an effort to stop our ascent.

Soon, some of us lose grip and sail upwards,
Flying away into sweet nothingness,
And are never heard from again.
The rest of us try to avoid a similar fate
And tighten our hold.

As time goes by we feel our grasp weakening.
We may not be able to hold on much longer,
And we wonder whether we should just let go.