I've been gazing off in the distance,
watching the pine sway;
trying to decipher how time
so quietly
slips away.

The cliff on which I stand has
carried for sometime those without a
path, care, or reason to mount this
incline.

There's such a sharp point up here at the zenith;
such a cumbersome distance between the ground,
and the mind.
The height leaves me curious and inquisitive for sometime.

Without wings it's an obstacle.
A vantage point without advantage;
so
hard the
bleak feelings are to
manage.

Maybe I can fly; it wouldn't hurt to try.
Just one step forward and glide, or
shed a fearful tear and
cry.

I've lost certainty being here,
dislodged
time; will I commit the unthinkable, and try?
Unspeakable, this flight and fear;
like an indistinguishable, monotone chime.

I made up mind long ago;
flight or
not,
this is no
crime.

Now I look down upon this ridge and
fail to
see anything but the
abyss.