On the Precipice

Standing on the precipice,

Looking down,

down,

at myself and how I have managed,

to let trapped ideas simmer.

I am always at the brink,

of something,

A Hallelujah moment

that I do not quite know of,

of an unaccomplished dreamer.

I am always about to become,

the tender bud, fluttered and bent,

the water from the bath trickling on marble,

The faucet is turned and there is no puddle,

with my name, no river.

On the ottoman where I left it

for everyone to see,

Scented paper is laid down,

the ink scribbled fancy on it,

but the thought is nowhere –

 

(poem by Jabel Erica O. Bercasio)

 

 

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