Imagined edges and corners,
Like unexplored nautical maps,
Without a key, compass rose,
To say what lies across the edge.
-
Edges, like horizons, on journeys,
That are never reached, horizons,
And edges, one and the same.
-
And what lies beyond,
The corners of the mind,
Humans cannot know.
We are all restrained from wandering far,
It's all in our minds.
The edges.
Where secrets crawl and screech.
Because one cannot surpass what isn't really there.
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And the blackened edges,
Where ships would tumble and legends would lie,
Don't happen.
-
For what can a human grasp that is across the edge?
A flying leap,
Yet we are contained,
In amorphous soul-like minds,
Safe in horse latitudes,
In the crosswinds on the seas.
-
Minds do not stretch,
As the map scrolls do not go on,
And the pens, the ink dries out.
It simply isn't meant,
For us to see what lies ahead.
For nothing ever does.
-
And so we say "insanity"
Is the jumping off of bridges
And the dropping off of minds.
-
But shouldn't we say "insanity"
Is wandering the mind forever,
Ships lost out to sea,
Expecting to come across
Edges, to vault over.
When no such things exist.
Two- Winter Spaces
So sings the crunching of the snow,
Melodic hymns drift on polar winds.
And the harsh winter sun shines,
So much so we are snow-blind.
And equally blind to the biting wind and stiffened fingers.
Not resting snug in woolen gloves.
-
And boots break through icy layers, stir flakes up into air,
Dancing on pine needles,
Smelling of sap.
It is winter, as we go tromping through forests,
Seeing them for the trees.
-
And tumbling through drifts we go,
Carried on rubber-soled feet.
Not gliding gracefully over ten-foot drifts,
Instead, we jump and flail through them.
Winter and all is not so dead as it seems,
When the sun plays on the snowy carpet.
And birds' calls reverberate on the crystal, clear air.
-
And so it is winter,
And all is blanketed in white,
Deafened are the spaces between us as we go,
Plaid scarves becoming icy as the time passes.
And hands outstretched to balance us,
Ensure safe winter passage.
-
Snow-filled banks and iced-over streams,
But not all is as dead as it seems.
There you go.
I'm going to bed.
Goodnight.
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