The air thrums with the song of cicadas
And midnight wind playing through the trees.
Far above the corporeal, I stand
Peering over cliffs into the jet black seas.
Chaotic waters crash against the rocks
And rage and burn to sweep away the earth.
Tempted by the waves to jump, to fly,
I search the skies for some last sign of worth.
But when at last I reach the very edge-
A breath from tumbling off the precipice-
Soft sunlight spills over the horizon
To chase away the dark of the abyss.
Aug 30, 2014
Aug 30, 2014 at 4:56 PM UTC
The air thrums with the song of cicadas
And midnight wind playing through the trees.
Far above the corporeal, I stand
Peering over cliffs into the jet black seas.
Chaotic waters crash against the rocks
And rage and burn to sweep away the earth.
Tempted by the waves to jump, to fly,
I search the skies for some last sign of worth.
But when at last I reach the very edge-
A breath from tumbling off the precipice-
Soft sunlight spills over the horizon
To chase away the dark of the abyss.
A poem about rediscovering hope.