Where Does the Edge Lie

I wonder sometimes

when trying to get there

or staying away

is the actual motive.

We live our lives in a melody

one offers the high, a wise aria,

while the other provides sullen

departure toward shallow –

~

a surface we might easily decide

to scratch, desecrate, to ugly

such is the natural course of life.

~

We find ourselves inside a blind

unforeseen turmoil of passion

that place, that hideous nation

of the seething nature of hate,

yet we cannot grasp the power

the everlasting urge to become

lost in the eroticism of despair,

a place we romanticize is there.

~

a surface we might easily decide

to scratch, desecrate, to ugly

such is the natural course of life.

~

When last I went on my search,

I could glance upon a cavern,

a place so very dark and sullen,

my world would disappear a certain

time to allow that physicality

displaced and maimed by nature

a slow and mindless vacuum

beyond the truth of our lives

~

a surface we might easily decide

to scratch, desecrate, to ugly

such is the natural course of life.

~

Beside that place we do easily find

is some hope, a gift of attitude

a place where often we might glance

at elegance, the truism of our love

In there we can become the energy

that satisfy the lust of apprehension

where fear and trepidation bask

to wait, to envelop, to swallow whole.

~

Perhaps a dance, a mellow tune, a harp

coupled with sunlight’s brilliant task

toward letting our lives become alive

could be a better path to ask,

when seeking the edge of some place

some quiet normalcy, we think to need.

Perhaps the pattern of our lives contains,

no specific lines meant for design.