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Balancing the Edge

 

 

Darkness smiles in
Sunlit paths, warmed, while Drinking
Anticlimactic baths—of bittersweet—destiny’s rum
The titter of time is
Balanced

Here
On music’s line, entwined,
A twisted knot, Balance’s
Amnesic Plot, swim to
The edge of —
Blue.

Wonder who
The face is, in shattered glass,
Passing through, as heart’s
Blood
Runs into desolate veins,
Begging for the reins of
Balance.
Blood runs
Slower, finds a crack, in
Shards fallen on
The floor, waiting
To underscore Triumph.

Pools form
In the ground, a passerby
Leans down—missing Dead eyes—already
Gone above the skies, Balance
Lost, the Amnesic
Plot dies.

  --Lorena McCollister