Standing on the cliff edge
I jump into the raging storm;
It has appeared before me
and, although it comes as a surprise,
it is my own doing. A tempest formed.
You push. I leap.
I pull. You retreat.
Swirling in confusion -
waves of air pulse and beat us down -
we swell upwards and
sweep
in an uncoordinated fashion.
Utterances blast as battering billows of passion.
I push. You leap.
You pull. I retreat.
Edging away, with caution -
clambering over the blades, the rocks,
the challenging cliff face -
I question my motives.
Disgraced by an arbitrary demand.
We push. We leap.
We pull. We retreat.
Not staring one-another in the face.
Glimpses reflected;
frowns flash like the souring surf.
Groans of dismissal and misunderstanding
echo in the depths.
Push. Leap.
Pull. Retreat.
Literary killings: I am literally penning a poem every week for a year. Inspiration is taken from various poets (see labels on each poem).
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