The Precipice

Could it be

That the great precipice,

That peril conceived,

The fall from form feared

Is but an invitation

From fear itself

To ward you from the truth

That the cliff is no cliff

From which you must jump,

But instead

Is the gentlest slope

Like the soft sand

Of a gorgeous beach

Where a warm sea

Reaches to meet your feet

And invite you in

To something so vast

That all your worries

Would dissolve

Into the whole loving truth

That what is you,

What is real and true,

Recognises itself.

–

distilledvoice