In my chest, the tipping point's
A high hailed peak that scrapes the sky
The concept tips from front to back
And longs to plunge from either side.

In one which way, the drop would shake
The foundation of what's inside
The collision point would rend the base
And throw a fissure far and wide

The sure descent, the easy course
Should this notion plunge rightfully
Would quiet yearning, wanting things
That have no right to come to be.

Though balance seems precarious
Atop this inner mountain top
Decisions cease to help provoke
This fickle notion's needed drop