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The Brink
Hanging on the edge of a cliff
An ancient root grows from the dry dirt
Cracking
Breaking
Carefully
Trying
To
Creep
Towards
The
Edge
To escape
To safety
Using enough strength to reach safety
But careful of the gravity
Pulling me down into a deadly free fall
Grip hard
But not too hard so that the root breaks
My only aid
Almost there
Reach the edge
Rise up
Onto the surface
An unfriendly hand
Clean, smooth, manicured
Grabs mine
Splintered and blistered
The enemy is laughing
I am screaming
The enemy lets go of my hands and snaps the root,
My only aid in the past
I drop
But I grab on someplace else.
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