June 13, 2011

Writing - T. L. Wiens


Standing on the precipice

I look down--

The cool water calls but

Rocks sharp enough to fillet jut out to the left

Trees wait to impale on the right

I look up and whisper a prayer

The Lord says, "Jump."

With eyes closed, I leap

The rocks scratch at my belly

Tree branches grasp for hands and feet

The plunge into the water stings

As it soothes the scratches and scrapes

But I survive another critique

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