Thursday, December 25, 2014

the edge

somedays in the horizon
curved and clear enough
others like today
cuts sharp and ready
turns in my side, to blur
with the copper sunset trees
from evening to night
demands radar from moonlight
and questions from sound
somedays I can be broken
somedays I am bent
somedays I just walk the ledge
with painted hands
to see if I must relent
or fade away

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