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Poem


Visionary thinkers
have always lived dangerously
Their thoughts walk a tightrope
Balancing madness and levity,
utter despair and resolute hope
They love peering over the edge,
looking into the abyss of the unknown
You must have the surest of footing
to do what they do
Or you will lose all sense of yourself
inside the vastness of everything else
When you're standing on the edge of reality;
at the precipice of your mind,
are you afraid of the things you see?
It's not a clearly defined line,
this edge of reality
It's the stark tome of the present,
and the unwritten fate-to-be
Can you grasp,
can you see?
Can you decipher
what is yet-to-be?
What happens to your mind,
should you gaze too long at infinite future possibilities
Much like looking at the sun,
you become philosophically blind permanently
Only able to see blurred lines of time-shifting realities
Unless of course,
you're that visionary thinker
who keeps his spiritual sun visor down
as a measure of precautionary safety

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