Standing on the Brink

On tops of mountains, as everywhere to hopeful souls, it is always morning. - Thoreau

Standing on the brink.

Teetering atop indelible ink.

Everything thrown at me.

Including the kitchen sink.

How much can a devoted soul take?

'Til its make or break?

A millenium muses.

Like an addict that uses.

Stubbornness refuses.

Selfies aren't much use.

Unless you share them with someone you love.

Like heaven above.

Loneliness fits like a glove.

When push comes to shove.

Destiny dances a tango.

Foolishness a fandango.

Two hearts caught in a near rhyme.

One loud.

The other a mime.

Buried treasure must be unearthed.

Repentant souls rebirthed.

A coin has two sides.

The minter decides.

Life is lent.

Faith must be spent.

The music of the wind can fill a void.

Like the logic of Freud.

But it's not the same.

As true hands that beat a drum.

And voices that hum.

Long kept secrets are mum.

 A mere glance from a lover can mean the world.

Like a flag unfurled.

A nod and a wink.

I feel but don't think.

Standing on the brink ...

Author's Note

"The higher the mountain on which you stand, the less change in the prospect from year to year, from age to age. Above a certain height there is no change." - Thoreau