Over the chasm of life extends a narrow outcropping of anxiety, held just above the future.
Souls of all forms and figures peer over the edge in silent fear.
Some embrace the feelings, fewer leap.
Most simply exist in its embrace.
Taunted by the ambiguous next.
If the clouds were to part,
and the depth reveal itself,
many would panic and run.
The clouds, however, remain
steadfast in their paths.
The cliff, too, remains
immovable,
looming,
precarious.
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