With wide eyed wonderment
we fly through the mountains
threading the eye of the storm.
Clouds dive for cover
changing colour
like hopeful chameleons.
Propellors strain against the wind
creaking
as we grip the arm rests.
Hears beat faster
at the danger
at the sheer beauty
at the power of nature
to make you love something
that could kill you.
I wonder about the baby crying
and if he was going to anyway
and the old man behind me
moaning about the luke warm coffee
and it terrifies me that his may be
the last voice I hear.
I stand upon the precipice
listening to the silence
smelling the indifference
seeing no reason to step back.
I open up amidst the heckles
clinking glasses and a desire
to be entertained.
They laugh
eventually
and I smile inside
at the things that scare us half to death.
To be judged by others
who are not peers
but mere guilty bystanders.
Sad.
Edgey performance.
© Ash Cheyne 2017
Daily Word Prompt – Precipice
