Here I stand on the cliff of the ocean.

Below me is the crumbling limestone leading down and down for leagues to the roaring deep waters below.

They crash and they spray

Up the face of the cliff and into mine.

 

The cliffs extend for what seems like forever along the coast.

For what they are reaching I can’t quite say

But for certain they yearn for something,

Be it water or land,

They are the boundary between.

 

The clovers and grass extend just to the edge,

And here I sit on the cliff of the ocean.

 

My feet dangle over the edge

Calculating the distance below them to where they could be.

They don’t want to go there, and I beg them to stay

But what comes must come and what goes must go,

 

And it seems that this is decreed.

 

Should the rocks crumble beneath me

I will fall

To the roaring ocean below.

 

Surely this is not what is decreed.

 

The weariness from my journey to the shores sets in

And here my eyes close at the cliff of the ocean.

 

The wind blows cool on my face.

The sun shines warm

Providing what it always does –

Comfort.

 

As the wind dies down to an unsettling stillness I know that I must look down.

And so I open my eyes and gaze into what lays below me.

No longer is the ocean roaring and spraying its rage.

It is now still.

Like a lilly.

Like a pond

Like a comforted beating heart.

 

What I see is startling.

I have been brought close to the waters, so that my nose might touch them.

And I am terrified, for there before me lay the one thing I dread the most –

 

Like a filthy disheveled room

Like a distressed beaten heart

Like a roaring sea –

 

It is me.