Wavering

I stand at a precipice

of something

unseen, undark,

an endless pit

so near if I close my eyes

the wind screeches by my ears.

Yet brimming,

as if shrouded by a shadow

belying an abundance - of something

that croons and calls

tickles my toe-tips hanging off the cliff

taunting me to jump.

disparate from the road before

no goalposts to hang onto

Unlike the waves I rode

no bobs or dips to brace

just space, and within - something.

To turn and start anew

Is that wise?

To tread again concrete lanes

snooze within spotless walls

Is that safe?

Like a tight-rope walker

Balanced on the balls of my feet

I wait undecided

Until - a gentle breeze

a nod forward

and the wind sings around me.

The above poem is for the NaPoWriMo2022. Day 7.