At the Edge of Youth

As I hang from the edge of my youth, Legs dangling in empty space, I stare down at the beckoning ground And dream of sleep after the fall; With feeble faith I leap and leave The sidewalk splattered in frail innards, Watching mad beggars sniffing For food, toothless grins buried In tangled beards laced with lice, Hands outstretched for blood or bone. Have I none to spare? They ask with a sideways glance, As their dead sons and daughters Drift in with the turbid tide, Peacefully asleep on a bed of foam, Perched on a wave of dim remembrance; Raving with spittle, the sea screams And cries, sparing no boat In this black, black bay, Where my ghost's ship glides Past the precipice of time, Till day finally snuffs itself out in the abyss And leaves night to linger on forever.