We are at the precipice,
in a world spinning
out of control. We're on the brink.
Extreme events, calamities keep
coming at us, faster than
we can blink, think,
rise or sink.
On the rocky ledge, our heads swim,
looking down. When we fall, will there be
a river, in which to either
swim or drown?
Where's the bottom, when the bottom
has fallen away?
Is there enough hope left,
still, in which to pray? If so,
what shall we say? We're told
we're in a situation of grave peril.
Yet those in control have their own agenda
for their role. What's scary is, in their eyes
I see no soul.
Perhaps after the sheer drop,
there will be a landing on a kinder shore.
It's the best that I can hope for
For Desperate Poets, where the topic is Precipice.