Tuesday, December 28, 2010

The Cliff

There is a simple end
To predicaments like this
Others land, head on stone
A hand pointed upward

Slow motion dream
I fall past the
Layers of rock
Secrets of a billion years

A history lesson
Of people and laughter
And pages turning
Only crows appear

My senses heightened
The dew of heaven
Reaches out
To my shoulder

There is a stench
Of wasted hours
A moment
When breath is stolen

Strong hands of a tree
Pull me up ward
Bones snap
Like weaker limbs

Roots run deep
Into a strong cliff
There is new land
Marked off for me

Culled, my ice fingers
On the blades of rock
Digging deep
Loose stones echo below

There is a flat edge
Trees and a cave
Shelter from the wind
A home

Fires are built
Many hands throw
Axed logs
Announcing sparks

There is a soup
We drink from bowls
Melting our minds
And remove our cold

We tell our lives
Until it is so late
Our hearts begin
To live each other

Stories become etched
Into the rocks around us
By people who
Are gone by morning

I wonder if I am to
Sit here until
They return
Or do I fall

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