Friday, May 11, 2012

Your Hand


The cliff's edge looms
Right there, so close,
Calling out discreetly
Whispers float around
Come, come they say.

I step forward slowly
The faint echoes swirl
Teasing me ever closer;
Pulling my feet through
Teetering on the edge.

And then, quietly drawing up;
A soft touch, a gentle whisper
Strong fingers grasping mine,
Your smile lighting up my path.

The cliff's edge withered away.

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