Living on the edge of life
The study of experiences
Leaves little left to see
The surface and the depth is gone
No hills, no loves, no others
You are totally alone
The edge when seen directly
reflects so little light
Life becomes invisible
It's features simply disappear
One must step up and off the edge
and join with human kind
Then the surface can be seen
And lo the shadows tell us
of the details to be found
With the color of our feelings
One just lives and maybe loves
If your drunk or high or lost
Climb back up and join us
Life's short enough already
The edge is near the grave
Poem dedicated to Sally Harris a 'Purveyor of Hope'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem