On the edge, wind plays with the stream. Its spatter freezing onto trees, who look weak, vulnerable, bent by the extra weight.

On the edge, where the stream freezes, falling is continual, falling is a cycle. Roots are lost.

On the edge, exposed, the sun isn’t always warm. It’s fickle, flirting with the cold, funneled winds. Relentless, always cycling.

On the edge, spring holds no promise. Pockets of ice remain. Trees are cautious, curving into an array of uniqueness.

On the edge, strength takes new forms, evolves into a balance. Depth is an art never grown in easy soil.


26 Comments on “Depth

  1. This is very “deep”! I had a similar thought while i was sitting on a fallen tree on the edge of a cliff.

    Gosh, i’m so happy i didn’t fall, now that i think about it!


  2. Dear Elan,
    Read marvelous pieces by you again. Profound. You have an ‘old’ soul. Amazing wisdom to share. XxX


  3. Your poem expresses well the dizzying idea of depth on so many levels. I also agree with your response above. WP does not give you many creative choices when it comes to text.

    Liked by 3 people

  4. I love the way your words flowed. The repetition and alliteration really gave this a unique and haunting feel. Well done!


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