Fall’s Edge

Standing at the edge of the falls,
so beautiful, so deadly,
eight thousand tons of water falling each second,
hypnotically strong;
you can see the draw, understand the attraction
to leap into the water and surrender,
to give in and live, however briefly
in a place where there are no choices,
no battles to win or lose,
only inevitability, and the peace of it.

But that is not your life.
You were meant for more,
for love, for glorious failures
and secret victories,
and to fight battles you can, indeed win
as you stand at the edge of the falls
with their deadly beauty, mesmerized
and aware what kind of madness draws others to leap,
grateful that their madness
is not your own.

About this poem

We all have our own madnesses. Some we go with. Some we fight.

Tom