Scripted

So tempting to step to the edge,

I hesitate—engulfed in the fear I create,

My toes trickle over the ledge while

At the bottom, fear awaits my descent.

Forgive the words I will never utter

And the devotion I would never give,

But beneath my breath I mutter,

The sentiment you know is buried deep.

Across the river the wildflowers grow,

But here we stand—across the pond—

Life, for all it's highs and lows

Has scratched us from head to foot.

You will leave your life behind

If you give me time to find peace—

My body has no love for my mind,

And that's the way it will always be.

     DannYetman

www.yetmanpoetry.blogspot.com