Stand at the precipice, trace the edge.
Press your body into the wall of stone behind you.
Close your eyes.
Lean out.
The wind rushes forward to catch you, but too late.
You fall.
The atmosphere cuts through your clothes, your skin.
Tumbling naked before God,
suspended only in time, the trees below stretch out their
bony fingers to catch you.
Life and death crash violently together, their impact
ripping through your body, tearing you limb from limb.
Open your eyes. Retreat.
It is not your time to fall into flight.
One day, death will give you wings, and you will rise
beyond yourself.
Not yet. Stay, a little longer.
Life must have its way.

Winter turns the skin to ash.
Darkness creeps within.
Parched for light, a lightning flash,
any hope is sin.

Sinking soul, like sinking snow,
heavy tread crush down.
All is rushing, quiet now,
colored leaves all brown.

There is stillness found in pain,
Suffering's embrace.
Empty shell seeks quiet, sane.
Lie, disguised in lace.

Darkness wants to interlope.
Crawl the other way.
Seek the agony of hope.
Live another day.

Empty grave croons for her pet,
her skeleton to hold.
Her lullaby is gentle yet,
Ominous and cold.

Winter turns my skin to ash,
sunshine I've forgot.
How can I be so bold or brash?
To be what I am not?

The sun will rise again, someday,
Maybe I'll live to see.
A kindly voice may softly say,
"Frozen soul, be free."