Dancers On The Edge Of Time Poem by Joshua Swanson

Dancers on the edge of time,
Toying with a swirling flame.
Some leap back and some leap forward,
But all do dance, no dance the same.

Like a moth drawn to a candle,
The dancers swirl, courting madness.
Playing with power they can barely handle,
Leaping to joy and falling to sadness.

An incandescent flame, my soul on fire.
Leaping, madly, sing and cry.
Ever dancing, I jump higher and higher,
Why do I do it? Why, oh why?

From pinnacle to jutting crag,
Glowing pillars in the sky,
I fling myself forward and never flag,
Soon enough I'll fall and die.

I know this flame will hurt me,
But though I back away,
Still I turn my face to see,
And wish that I could stay.