I stand on the brink of sorrow

With no idea what words will

Form as I strive to keep my

Balance there, my thoughts

Unknown to me but guided

By hands that dance to a

Different tune, the music of

Self-propulsion, they map the

Boundaries of my limitations

By striking keys, giving substance

To the nature of who I am this day

And my eyes follow the waypoints

Laid out before these sentient scribes,

Looking for a means to turn away

From that blackened, tear-stained fall.

END

“Balance”