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.