The Next Step Might be a Big One

I thought it about time to write something silly again and so I was scouring other people’s ideas, in search of one of my own when I came upon a challenge to write a poem in the first person here. How hard could that be? I’m always talking about myself.

I think (therefore I am) that life is not something we really have much control over. It just happens and we spend most of it as a spectator. Do we really know where we are going? I don’t think so. Where would be the fun in that, anyway? It will only be right at the end that we realise that we’ve seen it all before.

This poem was a rush job. They all are. My attention span is growing ever narrower. And I wandered a bit off track here and there (but that’s sort of what the poem, and life itself, is all about. Isn’t it?) and whilst it was supposed to be all about me (isn’t everything??) I grew lonely in the middle and added someone else. I’m not sure who.

*

I think therefore I am

Though I don’t think much at all

I limp along this pathway

I stumble and I fall

I’m following my instincts

Though I’d much prefer a map

I call for help, for guidance

As I fall in every trap

I read the signs, the messages

They don’t mean much to me

I need for you to take my hand

It’s dark. I cannot see

We’ll stand upon the precipice

Our toes upon the ledge

With one step we could end it

God knows we’re on the edge

When will I fall forever?

When will I be free?

Might we fall together?

Would you die for me?

I have no fear of dying

That’s what life is for

Again we will be flying

We’ve been this way before.

*

8 thoughts on “The Next Step Might be a Big One

    1. Thank you so much Judy. I never like to refer to my little rhymes as poetry … poetry being such a risky undertaking. Tomorrow, as it happens, I am attending a bit of a ceremony and, reading through the order of events, I find that a colleague will be reading a poem of his own in front of the assembled media – likely to a live national audience. I haven’t seen the poem but I am dreading for him that things could go horribly wrong.

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      1. The only thing scarier than reading your own poem in front of a bunch of people is relinquishing verbal control of that poem to someone else so they can read it to a bunch of people while you stand by…helpless, drowning in a sea of embarassment…

        poetry is poetry. You say potayto, I say potahto. It works, either way.

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