Edge Poem by Joseph Martin III

Surging waterfall cascade,

all at once the old dam won't hold,

the valley floods

the hands shake

lighting another cigarette.



In what place to feelings lay down to die?

Do they ever return to life after

crucified in the world of here and now?



In the lake of green dreams,

pale white faces haunt,

eyes in murky translusence stare

fixed as the northern star,

as cold as a promise.



Drink yourself to sleep

find your dreamless void,

wake to a barren dawn.


9/2003-rev.10/6/2006