The Edge

On the Edge,
The constant anguish of lying on the Edge,
Body stretched as if on a rack,
Sores beneath and around the mind,
To turn which way I do not know,
As I lie there bleeding on the edge.

The familiar pains me, stresses and gives little hope,
Comfort sought seems there and yet not so,
The Wind from yonder blows seemingly fresh but not sure,
The razor's edge meanwhile cuts to the soul.

At this cross roads late in life, why the defiance?
Why then not the acceptance of what was and is.
Forgiveness I am told is the answer,
And yet this peasant believes herself a Queen.

Pride in who I am at this dusk of life
T o be accepted as I was then and as I am now,
It blurs my mind and cloaks my sanity
Is this a defiance of a woman long scorned?

~ Glowing Embers ~

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