Arboreal Thoughts

By Phil P Harris. (Own work) [CC BY-SA 2.5 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.5)%5D, via Wikimedia Commons
Skittering, sliding, always on edge
I faint tho think of the drop
The fall from this perilous perch
Os, so far from the ground
From the ways and paths of the dwellers above

I think-
I will not fall, I am after all
Arboreal in physique.
I am not inclined
To look below to where I once was

Before-
I learned of this so high up above
This new way of life
Precarious at best
A way that is learned

From-
Old tombs where martyrs are buried
with their faint memories
Of times when respect was their due,
their knowledge of how people lived
with the dangers around them held sacred

Adapt-
Live on the edge, skittering, sliding
along the safe path
Thoughts yanked back to the now
As I drop

Fall-
To no mercy below
where people have
No saints
No hope
No knowledge.

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