Balanced?

Sliding across the razors edge,
The trapeze wire swings saintly,
Slowly it arches to the ledge,
Grasping slightly towards sanity,
In moments of years since,
Wondering if it was real,
An essence of deliverance,
A dead deed of will,
A fall out of sorts,
Inside magnificent of course,
Regret the dreams of the young,
As they in turn torment the old,
On the tip of the tongue,
No matter the bend or fold,
Believe,
Believe,
I
Fennigan T 2.6.10