Beyond the Edge [poem]

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If we never fly
beyond the edge
how will we keep
our sails in trim
[wings are here
a suited synonym]
or understand
the ins and outs
of how to swim
with graceness
when your boat
capsizes right
upon that edge
but then instead
of paddling for
our lives to keep
from falling down
into the foaming
white unknown
we need to practise
playing the role of
f r e e f a l l
b a c k w a r d s
trustingfully loud
and latchkey kids
who come and go
like ghostly priestly
will-o-wisply old
Melchizedek and
have no priceful
precedents but
riding free upon
all surf wherever
that may be and
shall blow our
wide and never
ending destiny.
For if those gusts
originate from
azure & abovely
noble realms
and never from
the downly deep
of othersidely
dark undeevy
dreadful drowns
then safely we
can roam upon
that stormful
raging foam
[despite the fact
we pass through
countless strands
of crippling strife]
which in our hyper
always ignorance
we unpoetically
insist on calling

© 2012, Alan Morrison

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