Brink

BRINK


What do I do

if I start to fall again?
Do I pull myself up, take a step back, 
and brush off the possibilities?
Should I just back away now,
or approach the probability? 
I shudder when I think
of going through it all again
Yet, I’m on the brink
of colliding with now and then
I could just decide, right now,
that it’s time to say when
  
Brush it all off, 
before I get hurt again?


Why am I so afraid

of feeling fulfilled?
Do I ignore my heart, at this moment,
and turn off the possibilities?
Is it safer to back away now,
to avoid the probability? 
Give in to my head,
and seize the chance to leave
Slink away from a temptation
that I can barely conceive
With my worn-out heart
clinging to my sleeve

Turn it all off,
and just leave?


Why am I so worried

about being selfish?
Was I not searching, and hoping,
for the possibilities?
Do I really want to back away
from a healthy probability?
My instincts are whispering,
get away, you are getting close 
Yet, there is a reason why
you are the one that I chose
Where we are headed,
neither one of us knows

I just hope that I am prepared
before I get too close.


My smile seems to have an answer,

and here it is, I suppose…
This may be possible, probably.
Let’s just see how it goes.

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Precarious

Precarious
Every morning I see him
barely hanging on 
Dangling, precariously
under a lingering moon

Managing to endure
despite his battered shell
A razor piece of skin
holding him up high

Been torturous months
since that horrendous storm
Shattered his foundation
destroying his lofty view

Many extreme days since
of ice and punishing wind
Chipping away his perseverance
diminishing his resolve

I imagine his motivation
the reason for his strength
The last strand of resilience
that holds him there

The harsh and bitter elements
cracking through his will
Leaving him alone, wavering
on the brink of his demise

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I check on him again
battered by days end
Still hanging on, barely,
by that same thread of hope

Any quick jab of pride
is quickly superseded
Replaced by the reality
of what lies ahead

Knowing that rest is fleeting
as night brings the unknown
One thin strand of determination
preserving his weary soul

Nights of wavering doubts
of cold and cruel struggle
Exhausting his perseverance
diminishing his resolve

I imagine his thoughts
through this arduous battle
Through the repetitive rigours
of winter’s constant extremes

Recognizing his own inevitability
his slight, precarious being
Perhaps, hoping not to fall
until the warm ground of spring

 

Suspended

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Suspended
A wind worn branch,

reduced to a splinter.
I am a rabbit hole,
hidden beneath winter.

The morning starts out the same…
With smiles and good intentions
With energy and lofty goals
  But, the minutes are ticking
Toward the end of both
Toward the mid-day lull
Imagination grinding to a halt
Hitting the proverbial wall.

Wheels locked in place,
 gears wanting in power.
I am time standing still,
hand stuck on the hour.


The reluctant optimist,

 hopeful that there is more.
I am a tree lined road,
winding to the shore.

There is a fine line in place…
That separates good from great
That distinguishes less from more
 Potential, on the threshold of change
Sometimes it meets a path
Sometimes it’s on a ledge
The brink of a breakthrough
 Precariously near the edge.

An expanse from a destination,
 a misstep from being lost.

I am a suspension bridge,
 longing to be crossed.


The battered pitcher,
that’s been to the well.
I am the grizzled veteran,
  with stories left to tell.

Personal insights ready to be shared…
Seeing the importance of each day
Seeing the enormity of the little things
So much potential, yet to be met
Bringing along a passion for life
Bringing an open book to the table

The mind is more than willing
The body, fighting to be able.

A semi-automatic rifle,
unsure of where it’s aimed.
I am the winning lottery ticket,
waiting to be claimed.

 

 

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