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Poem

Today is Wednesday,
and the sun rises with the certainty
of a life half-lived,
a life daring to dance on the edge
without plummeting into the abyss.

I sip my hazelnut coffee,
nutty as my long-gone mother,
pondering the balance between zeal and prudence,
the knife’s edge where dreams and sanity coexist.

In the stillness of dawn,
I hear the grass groan,
pressured by the audacity of dandelions,
their yellow faces turned toward the sky,
defiant, like a heart unafraid to love.

Finite possibilities etched in my brow,
a map of roads taken,
and those feared.
I trace them in the mirror,
wondering if today I’ll find a new path,
or merely circle the familiar.

The radio sings of a world
that sometimes feels distant,
words of number one hits
lost in translation.
Do they know this dance of ours,
the tightrope walk of living fully
without the fall?

My daily poem complete,
ink still drying,
I ask the morning, what mischief shall I seek?
Perhaps I'll flirt with serendipity,
or brush against adventure's hem.

To live to the brink,
is to court the thrill
of the unknown,
to feel the pulse of life in every vein
without succumbing to the siren song
of excess.

Today, I'll waltz with wisdom,
twirl with daring,
find the sweet spot where dreams and reason
meld into a symphony
that is my life,
played out on the strings of possibility.

What mischief shall I seek?
The kind that leaves me breathless,
yet whole,
that whispers of a life lived fully,
a life danced on the brink,
with grace,
with wild, unyielding grace.

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