On Edge

November 20, 2008
By Theresa Beekman, Staten Island, NY

My hands are insignificant
small and impure
faith dripping from them
scars, of what I’ve endured

Falling through the clouds
hair, wisping by my ears
angels calling from heaven
sonnets that only I can hear

callings from every which way
through tunnels of darkness
praying that everything will be okay

I am on edge
Life passes by
No one lifts their head
To see the tears that I cry
Side swept in a river
Currents ripping
swaying in the water wondering
Why am I living

daisies fall upon the floor
crisp and white
I wonder and think
but no hope is in sight

I'm walking a thin line
On the edge of insainity
Trying to live up to expectations
In a world filled with vanity

Come and give me a your wings
Hold me up tonight
Save me from this evil world
And help me take flight
I cover my eyes
Not wanting to show the pain
Crying out loud every night
thinking I'm insaine

I am not on edge
Life doesn’t pass by
I see bright faces
Relief with a sigh
Side wept in happiness
Birds chirping
Jumping in the sunlight, Joyful
that I’m still living

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