At the Abyss

 I stood upon the edge of one of these

Before—they look the same, but different—

You stare, they stare, it’s you—the slightest breeze

And you could fall, it seems. I have been sent

Again, sent to stare at the abyss—bliss

Of love, bliss of death—nothing would dare tear

Me away from the source. My love for this

Was hereby made and made all that is fair.

 

But now I know where I am standing, dark

And infinite below—the things you know

Don’t bring the fear that you once had—I grew

Into this daemon-driven poet-lark,

And this new black abyss will help me grow,

Direct me to the nothing that I know.