Edge of the Cliff.

There we stood at the edge of the high cliff,
Walking the line, we were so damn foolish,
Thinking we could fly if we fell over,
Maybe all our reasons died when we stepped closer,
And somehow all we try is to fix the broken,
When it’s all in vain, we’re cold and we’re frozen;
Stuck in an endless loop, we keep going back
And all our worst nightmares keep fading to black.

Our wings of burning gold, torn and bleeding,
All we wanted to was fly, but now we’re healing;
We looked for the silver lines, and now they’re fading,
Like illusions they died, and soon it was raining.
Thunderstorms and fires, soon we were shaking
Like leaves caught in a storm, soaking and aching
For all we never had, but we thought we could make,
But we fell from that cursed edge of the cliff.

And perhaps that’s just how all empty dreams go,
They break us all inside and take a little soul,
When all we do is hide and live our own lies,
Stick to our own stupid pride and cut all of our ties,
Drunk on an empty feeling, cut through like a knife,
And we bleed in paint and ink, still frozen inside,
Still walking to the edge of the cursed cliffside,
We have nowhere to go and no place to hide.

No lengths we wouldn’t go to just feel the high,
Maybe all we are is young and broken inside,
And all we ever do is seek out the light,
We keep buried deep within, the strength and the fight.
We let the tears fall, all alone in the silence,
Walk through all the fires, through Hell’s hardest trials,
When all we want is peace and a little quiet,
But we still find ourselves back at the edge of the high cliff.

~© Shubhangi Srinivasan.


I wrote this poem, in an energy drink-powered daze, in the last half an hour. I wanted to write something very song-like, but I also wanted it to be angsty in a way that I couldn’t really explain if I tried. This is a poem about the youth, in general. We’re always seeking thrill of some kind, always trying to walk the line, always trying to chase things larger than life. And somewhere along the way, I think that people have always felt something similar. It’s for that particular feeling that I wrote this poem. I hope you liked it!
Yours truly,
The Shubhster.


Featured Image by engin akyurt on Unsplash

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