Issue 27 · One poem
The Fall
The ledge, the drop, the honest horror beneath.
The Fall've come so close this time,
To loose it all again.
But I'm standing on the edge,
Waiting for my fall to begin.
I stop, and hold my breath,
As I look down over the edge.
I firmly tighten my grasp,
Horrified with what lies beneath this ledge.
The sharp and gagged rocks,
Will dash to bits my bones.
I can almost hear my screams,
Each long and piercing tone.
But what of my future and my dreams?
Or do they all just end?
If I fall in to this chasm,
Is there still a chance I will mend?
My mind says no, but with courage,
My heart clams all will not be lost.
So the spirit or the flesh,
In which now should I trust.
Doubts of surviving enter my head,
Wondering if there will be life after I slip?
For my strength will not hold forever,
m already beginning to loose my grip.
So do I look down below,
And aim for the sharp gagged rocks?
Or try and find instead,
A smother and safer spot.
To land or to die,
s all about the same.
My future is in question,
I have only myself to blame.
“Horrified with what lies beneath this ledge.”
The Fall
§Clark J. Madsen - July 29th, 1997