On The Edge Of A Precipice Poem by Mark Heathcote

We stand on the edge of a precipice daily.
Asking a silent voice in the wind, should I jump?
Should I step off? I'm sick of this cockamamie
Life, this isn't real, nothing here is really—real.
Yes, many of us have gotten close to the edge.
Close enough to hear a pin drop, land thousands-
Of feet below; but for most 'later without regret
They endure; they grow, and on their journey, doubtless…
They accept they'll be back in the future one day.
But hopefully, they'll be better furnished.
Having faced whatever turmoil, the waters are awash.
Having steered and severed their anchors, rocks, and adverted.
It shall be ever so slightly that bit easier.
To pull back and avoid an outright catastrophe
With each hardship faced. We become a bit steelier.
In hopes we've pursued, defeating each new malady.