For too long I have tumbled
From fallen tree to bitter stump,
With slapping branches drawing cries
From all too-ragged lungs.

The shards of cutting grass
Leave red welts across ankles
That were clad in leather years past.
Now a woven trail of torn soles,
Broken laces, ripped boots
Lies far behind me on the ground.

Tattered remnants of shirts once worn
Hang limply from cruelly-spiked branches
Where, on occasion, the passing breeze plays,
Imparting a semblance of life
To the long-discarded cloth.

Bloody soles pound over spring grass
Giving a million grey sensations
A thousand gasping breaths and, at last,
No trees.

Blinding sunlight burns down
Obscuring all for moments.

The darkening trees have passed away
Leaving distant fires and a dying ember
That dips low over the horizon.
Yet all I can see is the cliff edge,
The precipice lying before me.

You stand there, all along the cliff edge,
Every inch of the way is lined by you,
Every motion of my eye meets one of your own.
I step, limbs trembling.  You smile.
And now it is all I can do
To stop myself leaping
Through your arms.



(Copyright 2005, Chris Kelly - just in case I do end up using this or a derivative for my creative writing course.  Yes, Mr or Mrs External Examiner, this is for your benefit.)