At world’s end,
How far back can we really bend?
Clinging to reality, a foot to escape,
Hanging above a world of dreams,
Below, we can put together our thoughts that fleet,
Create a world void of sin,
A world of fantasy, a haven we may call our lair,
With streams, hills, bowers and flowers,
Budding in their beds.
Yet to climb back up is where many path and errands meet,
Where the light brightens and dims,
Our hearts find love and despair,
More love and then repair,
Where many known and wise footsteps,
Have still tread.
So in wonder,
Steady gone under.
Is it the light ways that are so frightening?
Or that the rock could be struck by lightning?
How long can we remain afloat?
To let go or not?
How much longer can we remain so taut?