Precipice

Life- the ride or the journey?

If for some it is a ride

For others there is only the road- waiting

For footsteps to fall on its course.

We can be bystanders in life;

It neither asks nor expects

Participants to step to the edge

Look down and jump

For all that they would seek and have.

We can wait: staring aimlessly.

At those who go, who pass into the unknown.

They walk with purpose and drive.

They leap with courage and joy.

While the watchers succumb

To a steady soul-numbing sameness

Day after day of observing;

Approach, take off, descent.

There are those who- driven mad with fear

Press themselves as far from the edge

As the seas are from the land

For though the chemicals of each mingle and mix

They are separate and whole

And though each believes themselves alive

They are only the canvass that life paints itself upon

For life is for others.

There are those who after sitting

See not the edge at all,

And stand to walk swiftly beyond the precipice

They never taste or see life

For its journey happens with them

All unaware of its passing.

There are still others (sad creatures)

Who scream to be released from their bonds

They have invisible hands upon them,

Which stop them from the breathless release

Of plummet and surge.

These see life as though through a window

A prisoner watches the steady hum of the world

Turning without him.

And who can say that the hands are not real?

For to the captive they are as iron chains

And do the evil work

Of stifling thought and dream and hope.

There are also those (silly ones)

Who creep over to the edge.

They peer in curiosity into fathomless life

And in their urge to know they over reach the edge.

Each will scrape with bloodied fingers

Believing themselves lost to the horrible deep

And for them life begins as pain.

But soon they will be made well

As all someday find themselves in the journey.

For that is what it means to live.

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~ by Rebecca Erickson on May 30, 2015.

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