Literature
Death or Freedom?
I think it's like a cliff.
Sometimes I view its danger with sensible contempt, incredulous that anyone, least of all me, would
contemplate its edge; who would want to fall?
Sometimes I shy away, wary only of the spectators watching my steps. I'm afraid of what they'll think
or say or do if one who exudes confidence and dedication were to simply give up and jump.
And sometimes I stride so close that I crumble the weak soil,
And fall.
For a while, I daydream.
I watch the sky, contemplating, analysing, considering the feeling of my descent; death or freedom?
But I'm shaken from my dreamy deliberations by