We have to the end of life tipped on toes,
Edged loose to a pit of posed depth.

Goes us that of fear froze to death,
Knowing not that is left of those,
Edged back on plains of glows.

Goes us that leapt but survived on throws,
On undefined found in depth of hopes,
And knowing not that is besides of,
Them fallen, deeper into lower of.

Posed on the remains of them gone,
Lowered to levels from all hidden,
The nastiest of us dancing pairs,
Realize not the leaps taken,
From there edges broken.

We are to the beginning of life for a cycle,
Glued tighter to a look at them high above,
Waits for falls of all posed on edges gone,
Knowing not that us fallen is us on wait,
The fallen, earlier into lower of them.

4th April 2020