Behind this cage lies a muscle
feeble with its back turned,
trembling.
To the corner it runs, light too much to bear
but the fire inside burns intensely
unaware that the perceived cliff edge
is in actuality but the pouch of a mother kangaroo.
The perceived abyss is but a temporary figment
of your deceitful imagination
and darkness personified is but a lie
perpetually rewinding that cassette tape
as you continually chisel until there is no more.
You took a chainsaw to these chains
and rejoiced as those sparks flew
exalted as the picket perimeter fence
is blown apart close to daybreak.
So to glance is to risk and the reward is to look,
once you look, the reward is to fall
and once you fall, the reward is
the you that no other breathing soul can replicate.
