When kept on the edge of our seats
And watching a play
Advance, unfold,
What urges the end to be told?
Is it the feeling
That briefly before
It's time for the curtain to fall
That world will at last be complete?

When set at the edge of a cliff,
Our legs giving way
To fear, to dread,
What calls us to taking a step?
Is it the knowledge
That briefly before
Our bodies are crushed by the fall
For once, we'll be weightless and free?


Penned by my hand on the 8th of Phaestian, in the year 947 AF.