Periphery

At the edge of somewhere,

touching a golden sky, tinged

with cold, crimson teardrops

of a thousand misplaced souls.

Where a shrill, howling storm

echoes in your jumbled thoughts

and your toes grip the cliff’s rim

before you let go, and cascade

downward; falling, ever falling

into a waiting, unknown abyss.

© All Rights Reserved A. F. Stewart