The Precipice

We stand near

the jagged precipice

and try not to

go too near the edge,

and we live on

the ledge of a precipice,

with our lives

precariously made.


We build our dreams

on a precipice

and say that all is okay,

and stand in the wind

on the precipice

tilting oblivion’s way.


The precipice always

waits through sun

and cold bleak rain,

waits for us to come

to its certain edge

and for us to plunge

beyond its rocky plateau

to the sheer darkness

that exists below.