Thoughts From the Edge

One of the many poems I write late at night when I can't sleep.

I sit on the edge of realization
Counting the stars
Some of them shining
Brilliant beacons
Others fading out
Collapsing under the strain
Of being glared at by the moon

The wind whispers to me
Humming that familiar tune
I can't put my finger on
The words to

I seek the words
I seek the beauty of the stars
And the resiliency of the moon

I sit on the edge of eternity
Naming the clouds
Some of them thin
Frail like ghosts
Others full and churning
Giving birth to a fresh storm
Relentless in their creation

The rain falls on my head
Washing away the echoes
Of a past that I can only
Try to find the words for

I seek the words
I seek the tender rage of the clouds
And the refreshment of the new storm

I sit on the edge of epiphany
Writing mere words
Some of them heavy
Weighted by their intent
Others light, meaningless
A lesson in futility
Because they are written all the same

The words stumble forth
Sullying the virgin page
Dying there as they are written
For they are only words

I seek them anyway, the words
I seek the weight of wisdom
And the fulfillment of a dream

Reviews

[nicki_504]

This is a wonderful poem. I really love the way you have used metaphors and imagery it undoubtedly enhances the poetry so much more.