this is based on a reoccurring nightmare i've been having. please skip if themes of suicide trouble you.
another man stands
on the bridge to nowhere,
where "nowhere"
really leads to
the depths of the cold water
in the river below.
as the man walks to the edge
and gets ready to jump,
men in the nearby treatment plant
gather by the window
to watch the show unfold
before their very eyes.
they call the unfortunate ones
wanting to escape their lives,
the ones willing enough to
take the 120-foot plunge
to the depths of nowhere,
"the jumpers."
the jumpers are nothing more
than purely entertainment
in the perspective of the men
at the plant, as they push
each other to get a better view
of the performance in front of them.
the jumper climbs to the top,
effortlessly and desperate.
he stands on the edge,
conflicted with whether or not
to take this chance to make
the plunge to nowhere.
the wind forces him closer.
it cruelly taunts him,
but never pushes him off.
the decision whether to
jump, or to walk away,
rests on his hands.
so he leans forward,
the weight of his body
on the balls of his feet.
he spreads his arms out,
like an eager bird about to fly,
and plunges into nowhere.
YOU ARE READING
Pleasure or Pain? (Poetry)
PoetryI call this my book of chaos; my sanctuary. When the turmoil inside of me resurfaces, when I've surpassed my tipping point, putting my jumbled thoughts and conflictions into words gives back the control I initially lost.
