dragons

Poetry Corner I

Edge

There is a precipice at the edge of sanity.

Cold, hard and sharp

it stretches out a panoramic view

of a brilliant abyss.

Dragons dance and demons whisper

sweet and warm.

Strings, then threads are cut

with a witless edge.

Weaving time without a hem.

The silence calls, beckoning,

inviting the comfort of

oblivion.

So simple to take the step-

a leap of bounds,

letting

go.