I walk through these mists
to a precipice.
There’s an air of psychosis in this place…

I step out so, so gently,
vertigo spinning,
3,001 feet in the air.

A death falcon dives below,
claws poised for prey,
and I pray as my opponent glares.

I don’t look down, nor does he;
this glass bridge barely
an inch thick then open expanse.

I focus on him; his mace,
screeching like death falcon’s prey,
dragging along the glass.

God, please don’t let me die on this day.
As wind cuts at my eyes
I dare not close them

and thereby give him the upper hand.
One false move lands
that mace to my face and then

death by gravity’s crush
long before I hit the rush
of river far, far below.

This hulking brute’s an eclipse
of all that brought me to this:
Our final battle’s throes.

This haunting mist clings
Like death between
The aether and us here on psychosis’ wings.

I stand, bravely stalking the fear
starting where his stare rears.
Suddenly: His mace swings!

My sword sits; I wait.
Vertigo spinning like his wrist
It begins…
My fingers lace…