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Fear standing atop crumbled clifftop.
A fleeting breeze whispers to me "what’s next?"
My Earth corrodes, this tearwater runoff
lifting fertile soil. Memories cropped;
despaired debris remains in frame. Perplexed
fear standing atop crumbled clifftop.
Two arms spread wide, frantic, balance I sought.
"Resist," whispers the breeze, "and breathe, reflect:
my Earth corrodes, this tearwater runoff
you precipitated; my ruin you wrought."
My toes begin to peek: the sea. Obsessed
fear. Standing atop crumbled clifftop
we teeter with unease that love means naught
when trust already sunk below the crest.
My Earth corrodes. This tearwater runoff
shall carve away our ache, and so we fought
against the chance that our love could contest
fear. Standing atop crumbled clifftop,
my Earth corrodes this tearwater runoff.
This poem is a work in progress. I still need to revise it to clean it up, strengthen images, and remove cliches where possible. Any feedback is appreciated.
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