Liminalistic

It remains so hard to then hedge,
when you live here on the edge—
live on the cusp of life and death,
separated by only a single breath.

Peering down from this height,
within a dark and endless night—
a never-ending sea of black ink,
here, not-so-safe on this brink.

This threshold between then and now,
stuck in between when and how,
as my life meanders again along
on this quest to re-find where I belong.

As I follow these well-worn tracks,
separating illusions from all facts,
under the taper and its golden glow—
still uncertain of how it will all go.

Knowing that when it all ends,
the arc of time always still blends
from the future to its past,
once the poetry is meant to last.