A poem

Each day that ledge looms large

chasms cruel mouth

ready for my slightest lapse in concentration

waiting in certitude for my fall

the one I dread,

She said it was stress and anxiety

that stole my proprietry

my equilibrium another delusion

confusion of a child’s fear

Is it near?

It must be close

I’ve had more than most people I knew

those who had so much

only to fall so fast

dizzy descent into the inert

cold dirt,

The fall I dread is near

its breath on my neck and a hand

grasping for me,

The chasm doesn’t care or concern itself with details

pass or fails, my sail is torn and I’m

losing direction

drifting with little connection

we all fall, that is all..

Chris