The Edge

Fancy seeing you here, at the edge of everything.
Sitting on the ledge the fathomless abyss before us.
We both watched in silence, how the darkness seems to magnify
its presence before us beckoning us to jump.

Jump down to its waiting arms, where we can find release,
from all the burdens that weigh us down, just let go for that elusive bliss.

And yet we sit unmoving, like two stone statues peering,
at the serene darkness of the abyss,
tethered to the ledge not speaking, just waiting and watching.

What is this that clings to us so?
Holding us back from embracing the darkness that calls to us?
Is it hope that stirs these limbs, moving us away from the edge?
To stop us from taking that final leap, into death’s cold embrace that waits?

-The Elusive Scribe 081013-