Why the Edge?

Precipice


To be free here a moment longer,

dangling by my fingertips,

my toes.

Not the edge of anything

I could touch,

a world of colors

of emotions

of holding my breath.

There is an aching,

my fingertips

my toes

the rope is fire

stinging with flames of ice

of fear.

I am merely fog,

touching everything,

yet nothing.

Slipping through keyholes

under doors

over mountains

and seas.

Bid farewell by the tide,

by the birds in the sky,

the flames burn.

To water vapor,

turn my fingers

and toes.

2 thoughts on “Why the Edge?

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