perhaps a place
at the holy hem of heaven
commends itself to the noble
souls who've tiptoed gracefully
past the temptations of the telluric realm
- certainly there is a limbo
here at the edge of all movement
a stifling halfway house, iron-girded
by grief, faint-heart, and where the despairing
insiders look on, always seeing out
though vision is broken by mottled glass
and water drops decanting heavily
when mists descend, decision clouds
handkerchiefs in hand we wipe
the panes, our eyes and wave away
the hours it takes to break down
doors, through to the other side of heartache
Keeping it to 100 words for M’s poetic prompt: Limbo
PoetryPix 
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