My Balcony

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The clutter stacked like melting Ice Cream

The busy road vibrates beneath

The walls are stained with soot

High, high up you watch, from My Balcony

 

Leaning over your “abyss”, your precipice

The fantasy of dancing in gravity

The leap of faith that they will cry over you

But here you are, still, on My Balcony

 

Flirting with mortality brings you to smoke chains

The crimson soup you will leave upon the pavement

Such a fascination in concrete

Yet there you remain, on My Balcony

 

Who can possibly understand your death romance?

A spectator sport, your grand performance

The freak show on a high wire

Will you dwell forever, upon My Balcony?

 

I believe you cannot fly this nest

Perhaps your feet are stuck

Crocodile tears can be so sticky

Tacky it must be, on My Balcony

 

Let’s put ME out of your misery

Encourage you to fly

I am here with a gentle shove

To get you OFF My balcony

 

© Copyright Dean Stephenson 2011

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